


the villains that live in my bed

by AtomicPen, theadamantdaughter



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Adamant as Katara, Atomic as Zuko, F/M, Role Play Thread, Zutara
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-04-28 18:50:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14455566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtomicPen/pseuds/AtomicPen, https://archiveofourown.org/users/theadamantdaughter/pseuds/theadamantdaughter
Summary: vague post-s2 au; disguised as the blue spirit, zuko stumbles across a captive waterbender. with time and a tremulous bond, they begin working together to set the world right.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> for the ease of our tumblr readers, yet another thread is being dumped here. also, everyone give a big welcome to my new rp partner!
> 
> [there will be mention of rape/non-con, but no such thing will happen in the thread. i don't feel it needs the archive's warning for that, but consider this your tw]

_‘So many people have not handled you with care,’_  he said.

  
That was his answer to her demands for a reason.  _Why did you take me? What do you want with me? Why am I here?_  Katara eyed her captor warily, refusing to move from her defensive position against the furthest rock wall.

He’d undone the shackles on her wrists, but that didn’t make her trust him. He’d brought her water, fruit, and jerky, but that didn’t make her grateful to him. His mask was a hideous mockery of a river spirit; his clothing was as black as the night in which he stole her away. Only his eyes and his dual blades caught the firelight, reflecting a gold that was almost familiar to her.   
       

Katara shook her head as if to clear it. There was no one left that she knew. She was the last of them, and she’d been inches from death two nights prior, when this wraith found her, saved her, as he seemed to think. _  
       _

> _‘So many people have not handled you with care.’_  
>         

She toyed with the words in her head, unable to fathom what he could mean. A small part of her, the prideful part that still sparked up and fought back when she had the strength was angered by it. How dare he imply she was broken? How dare he pretend he was some kind of savior? He was a monster, as frightening and dark and elusive as the monsters that haunted her dreams.   
       

Katara glared across the small cave he’d made his home, her voice like shattered ice. “I suppose you think you’re better?”

* * *

 

His hands didn’t even pause in their movements at her question, only the most recent of many. If he were being honest with himself, he knew that it had never originally crossed his mind to save her; she was only one prisoner of many, and his goal had been to stop the marauders, not embark upon a rescue mission. And yet–that’s what it had become, in the end.  
       

Zuko’s gaze fell from her furious one to the cave floor, shadows flickering across it from the firelight beside him like the long fingers of a specter. He couldn’t answer any of the questions she’d asked him before. Why had he taken her, when he hadn’t bothered to try and save anyone else? Was it because she’d been the last alive and that left him with little choice? Was it guilt that he felt? (If it was guilt, was it for himself, for what he was? Or was it for the country he was born to?) He wasn’t sure of anything, really; he couldn’t answer her.  
       

Nor did he want anything from her. The thought had never even crossed his mind. In fact, he hadn’t thought at all–when he saw her, he just moved and cut her chains and carried her, unconscious, to the first secure cave he’d found. She was light–too light. He wasn’t sure how long they’d been starving her, but he wasn’t about to risk her life by giving her more than small portions of light food until after the first few days.  
       

Even if he didn’t know much of who she was, he knew what she was, and he knew what that meant for her treatment. Being a waterbender captured by firebenders– _his people_ , he thought a little sourly–was an offense punishable by death. Even if those people were criminals themselves. Zuko hadn’t meant to say what he did aloud. He really hadn’t intended to say anything at all–the Blue Spirit wasn’t  _for_  that–but he had, and he had to deal with that fact. Now that he had said something, however, he was surprised to find he only halfway regretted it. Sure, it very well could have revealed more of him than he wanted it to, but at the same time, it also showed him her spirit had not been broken. And, perhaps, that she was stronger than he had originally feared from her imprisonment.  
       

So when she asked him if he thought he was better, he could have laughed. Finally, a question he could answer.  
       

“No,” Zuko told her. “I’m not. But I’m not going to mistreat you or hurt you.”  
       

He still didn’t look at her, instead reaching into his worn canvas pack. There was more food in there that he’d stolen for his own share, but he’d be willing to give some of it to her to start truly rebuilding her strength. She couldn’t stay here forever, and now that she wasn’t unconscious anymore, he somehow doubted she’d let him carry her again.

* * *

 

“You’d be surprised.” A scoff left her, short and halting. It hurt her throat, scratching at the hoarse tissue worse than her voice. “That does make you better.”   
Katara swallowed, grimacing. Looking at him through the bright flames in the cave’s center was straining her eyes. She let her gaze fall to the small presentation of fruit and dried meat.  _Blueberries._ She hadn’t tasted something so sweet in over a year; her mouth watered. That didn’t convince her to eat them.  
       

Resolutely, _stupidly,_ Katara tucked her hands under her arms and ignored the food. Unless she watched her captor catch it, kill it, and cook it, she wasn’t eating a thing. She’d had enough of strange substances and the strange feelings that followed.  
       

The water, however—  
      

 She couldn’t help it. Her tongue was so dry. Her throat burned with every inhale, every exhale. Katara threw a glance across the cave at the masked man— he still wasn’t facing her— and snatched the waterskin from the stone floor, guzzling down half of it.  
       

Then, she was on her feet. She’d been torn between using what remained to heal or fight. Instinct settled on the latter.  
       

Katara’s captor turned at the noise, the clatter of rocks around her feet and the sound of water splashing. She had the water frozen into needles, hovering around her. If the assault weren’t so deadly, it’d be pretty; little icicles refracting rainbows of firelight.  
       

B ut she glared, a harsh juxtaposition to the simple beauty. “Don’t move. Don’t move or I’ll— I—”  
       

It took but a second for Katara to realize something was wrong. Something was terribly, horribly wrong. She was dizzy and shaky. Her legs quaked with tremors and her heart thundered in her chest, marking shallow breaths. She should’ve known better than to stand so quickly; should’ve been smarter than to gorge herself on water.  
       

The needle-like shards fell, shattered. Katara keeled over, retching on the cave’s floor with enough violence to bring to tears to eyes. Then, she stumbled. A grab for the wall couldn’t keep her upright.  
       

Her head cracked against the stone when she fell and her world returned to black.

* * *

 

Before he could react beyond snapping his head in her direction, she was on her feet. Her hands were before her and all the water in his canteen frozen into darts and directed at him. His heart thudded in his chest and for a the space of a breath he was convinced he wouldn’t be able to defend himself in time. He’d underestimated her, didn’t stop to think that she might fight  _him_ –  
       

But then her voice wavered like a fire sputtering without enough fuel behind it, and the ice she’d formed all fell to the ground and scattered into a thousand glittering pieces against the rock. It was a momentary distraction that would have been beautiful in the firelight had Zuko given it any kind of notice, but then she fell to her knees and emptied the–notably little–contents of her stomach before the rest of her gave out and she dropped the rest of the way to the ground.  
       

The fact that he reached her a moment after she’d collapsed didn’t matter for much when he found blood trickling out from beneath her hairline. Cursing under his breath, Zuko shifted her as carefully as he could without moving her neck too much so that her shoulders and head were propped up against one of his legs.  
       

“ _Dammit_!” he hissed to no one. He hadn’t saved her from certain death only for her to crack her skull against the wall and die anyway. He had traveled with very little, and had even less medical supplies. Though it did no good whatsoever, he glanced around, as if the answer of what he could do lie within the flickering dimness of the cave.  
       

The longer she remained unconscious, the worse it could potentially be, that he knew for sure. He had to try and wake her up if she didn’t start to on her own, soon. Zuko held a firm hand against the back of her neck and rolled her slightly onto her side–it’d be even worse if she threw up again and ended up choking on her own sick–and stretched back to reach the canvas pack. If he could just get it to prop beneath her, he would be able to maybe go find something that would help. It was just out of range of his fingers. Of course.  
       

“ _Wake up_ ,” he said to her abrasively, his voice a rough scrape that echoed faintly. “You survived all this time in chains, you can’t let a rock finish the job  _that_  couldn’t even do.” As he spoke, he tugged off one of his gloves and gently pressed his palm against her head, feeling for any sign of fracture while trying to put some pressure on where it was bleeding. “And you can’t die and make all the effort it took getting you out a waste. I could have just dealt with the raiders and left you but I didn’t. Don’t tell me I wasted my time doing that. Wake _up_.” It didn’t matter what he said so long as he was talking and giving her something to hopefully register and focus on to lead her back to consciousness.  
       

His other hand was pressed between her shoulder and his leg from shifting her, so he couldn’t do much other than squeeze with his fingers. Maybe if he did that hard enough, maybe if he risked a bit of heat through his fingertips…

* * *

 

A thousand images filtered through her dreams, nightmarish things. A ship rocking, creaking beneath her. Chains rattling around her wrists, rubbing the skin away until the joints bled and bled. There was always blood, always death. Fire licked around it, tinting everything gold, heating her skin.   
       

Katara tried to run, run from the dancing flames, from the searing pain they brought. Her village was consumed by it. Her skin was a testament to it. Her family was gone because of it. Still, it came. Still, it burned.   
       

_No more_ , she pleaded.  _No more. Please._    
       

She screamed until her throat was raw, until all her strength was gone. Darkness crept upon her, enveloping her. Katara lay down within it, so tired, so worn. How easy it would be to give up. How easily she could stay there, completely at peace. She closed her eyes, trying to fall asleep. Someone was whispering to her.   
       

_Come back_ , they said.  _Wake up. Don’t die. Don’t waste my time._  
       

Who was left that cared that much about about her life? She had to know.   
       

Struggling against the blackness, against the pain, Katara blinked with heavy eyelids.  She tried to shift, to lift her head. She couldn’t. A distressed cry reverberated off her surroundings.  Everything hurt. But, she was awake. She was alive. 

* * *

 

Luck was on his side–well, her side, really; it was only a few apprehensive breaths more before she began stirring. Small, troubled noises bubbled up from her throat and she tried moving her head back and forth so much he had to hold her head still against his leg.  
       

“ _Hey_ ,” he snapped. “Stop it–you’re just going to end up hurting yourself more.”  
       

He’d hit–and seen enough people hit–in the head to know that the effects could range from minor headaches to partial paralysis. While he initially didn’t think that she could have hit her head hard enough to cause a severe amount of damage, it wouldn’t hurt to be on the safe side. What would he do if she permanently hurt herself?  
       

Something in his tone must have reached her, because she stopped trying to thrash about and just lie against him, breathing raggedly. Zuko lessened the pressure of his ungloved hand against her head, tentatively testing to make sure she would stay still without him restraining her in some fashion. Once he was sure she was going to stay still, he eased his grip on her shoulder as well.  
       

“You hit your head,” Zuko told her, slowly and evenly. “Can you hear me okay? Can you understand what I’m saying?”

* * *

 

His words made sense, and she hated it. It meant the nightmare wasn’t over.   


For too long, Katara simply lay there, her head on his thigh, ignoring him and ignoring the warmth that leeched from his fingertips into her skin. Maybe, if he thought she was dumb or deaf or damaged somehow, he’d leave her. Her terror of a life at the hands of captors would end. She could stay in this cave and starve to death in peace. 

The man in the mask seemed hellbent on waiting her out, however. He was patient, almost infuriately so. In fact, he went so quiet and so solemn, that Katara wondered if he’d fallen asleep. Whenever she shifted though, struggling against the hammering in her head to check his state, his fingers would tighten in their grip on her and she knew he was awake.  
       

Awake and watchful and patient.  _Dammit.  
_       

 Katara gave up. A croaky moan resonated in her chest. She swallowed around the feel of cotton in her throat. “Water,” she managed, breathing hard. “Give me… water.”   
       

His effort to reach the canteen was the most he’d moved in the last quarter hour. She groaned at the flex in his leg, a fist shoved against her mouth to keep from crying out. She wasn’t a child after all, and Katara knew it was her own idiocy that’d landed her here.  _Literally.  
_        

She opened her eyes when the canteen sloshed near her ear. He held it to her lips. Katara took a sip— much smaller and much slower this time— then signaled from him to take it away. “Thank you.”

* * *

 

She hadn’t directly answered his questions, but still answered them sufficiently all the same.  
       

Behind the mask, Zuko pressed his lips into a tight line. The fact that water alone had caused such an immediate and violent reaction in her told him all he needed to know about the finer points of her treatment. It curled anger in his chest, like hot cinders. He drew in a steadying breath, then released it slowly. Once he was sure she was stable, he would return to those marauders’ hideout and finish the job he’d started.  
       

He passed the canteen out of his ungloved hand into the other, and pressed his bare palm against the side of her head again, feeling for wetness. When his fingers came away red, he paused. The flow wasn’t heavy, which bode well when combined with her lucidity. Picking up his discarded glove, he soaked it with water and pressed that against her wound. It still needed to be cleaned, even if it ended up not being as serious as he had feared.  
       

Zuko was careful not to use too much of the water to press against her scalp—this was his only canteen, and she’d used up over two thirds of it between drinking and threatening him with it. The cave floor still glistened with moisture where her ice needles had shattered.  
       

A strange, soft glow lined his peripheral, and with no small amount of surprise, Zuko looked back to find it coming from beneath his hand. Instinctively, he drew back. The glow remained  _on_  the waterbender’s head, brightest around where her wound was. He sucked in a breath sharply through his teeth.  
       

She still lay still against his leg, and he fought the urge to scramble back and away. What was she doing? Was she even still conscious? Wracking his memory for waterbender abilities, he suddenly remembered something about healing. Was that what this was?  
      

Slowly, like a receding sunset, the glow faded. With a trembling hand, he reached to touch the spot on her head that was bleeding, only to find unbroken skin, as if it had never been split open by a rock’s edge. She had only done it with whatever bit of water his glove had absorbed and trickled onto her head.  
       

Had her captors known about this power she had? Was it how she outlived all the others? It was very powerful indeed, and it dawned on him that she would be a formidable opponent at full strength. To have the ability to take away life with the flick of one of her ice needles in one hand, and restore a body to a state as if damage had never been done with the other was no trifling thing.  
      

Instead, he kept his voice steady and tightened his grip on the canteen. “You’re welcome,” he replied.

* * *

 

With the brush of the damp glove, energy ebbed from her veins. Katara knew, even without the faint glow lighting the cave, that the laceration along her hairline had all but vanished without a trace. The deeper injuries, the possible concussion and pounding headache, saw minor improvements, too. She’d need more concentrated work, however, a detail she could focus on once her captor’s intentions were clear.   
       

At the moment, she couldn’t read him. Her assumptions of what he felt, what he was thinking, were informed only by the few others she’d healed.   
       

As always, there was the trepidation, the fear that followed. Not a single soul to witness this act had understood it. Her grandmother once whispered in a frantic rush that is was rare, that it should be kept a secret.  _At all costs,_  she’d said. The price on her head would be higher; she should only use it the most dire of circumstances, when it meant her life or death.  Katara’s very nature kept her from concealing it completely, however. And, from the hushed sounds of awe, the prayers to her as if she were a god, to the curses, the condemnation —  _demon, wraith_ , some called her — she relentlessly pursued and saved the bleeding, the dying.   
       

From the hard line of tension in his thigh, Katara guessed her… _companion…_ was wavering somewhere in between. On the side of right, he had his promise not to harm her. On the side of wrong, of money, of glory— she’d seen so many righteous men fall prey to such things— he now had the invaluable knowledge that she was a waterbender  _and_ a healer.   
       

Katara did all she could do, then. She grit her teeth and forced herself to sit up, fighting a wave of nausea at the pain radiating through her skull. Bleary eyes hardly focused on his, but she sneered all the same, “I can bend blood, too. When the moon is full.”   
       

Her breath came out hard, carrying the threat.   
       

“Three days,  _monster_. Whatever you do to me between now and then…” she sought a steadying breath. She was dizzy and weak, but she refused such things any place on her features. “I’ll gut you from your chest to your cock. But, with power over your blood, I can keep you alive… just long enough for you to learn what your intestines look like.”

* * *

 

Her threat could have very well been said to the cave wall, for all the reaction Zuko’s mask lended her. Beneath it, however, his eyes were wide, his jaw taut. While it was clear that she did not have the strength to fight him right then—and he was dubious about even in three days—it was abundantly clear to him that she was not going to cooperate easily. He wasn’t sure what he expected, but having his life threatened by someone as near to death as she’d been wasn’t on the list. It was something he would have done.  
       

That didn’t mean he wasn’t taking her seriously. Even though she couldn’t immediately carry out her threat, he had no illusions that she would hesitate once she got her strength back, if he gave her reason to carry it out. Zuko wasn’t certain she could actually bend blood; he’d never heard of such a thing as being possible. Then again, he’d never seen healing like that before. Maybe she was bluffing, maybe not. What he did know was that if she took it upon herself to gut him, that ice she’d formed would have no trouble doing so.  
       

For the moment, she looked as if she were fighting to even remain conscious, and her eyes were barely even steady on the face of his mask. With a fluid movement, he unfolded himself and stood. A glance to the modest pile of easy food he’d brought her showed it still untouched. Though he felt her gaze tracking him (as best she could in her condition), he took the few steps over to it, then retrieved some of the jerky. He went back and crouched before her, picking up the canteen again, as well. Now that he knew she could bend water to her will even heavily weakened, it was risky to let her have any. She could use it to attack him again, and the next time he suspected she would be far more successful. But, without it, she would certainly not survive. It was a risk he decided to take.  
       

Though he was unsure if she could see his eyes through the holes in the mask, he matched her gaze head on. A breath of silence stretch between them, and then Zuko held out the jerky to her in his ungloved palm.  
       

”You won’t be able to kill me if you’re dead before that.”

* * *

 

“Well, then I’ll do my very best to stay alive, but if you think I’m eating anything you’ve given me,” a haughty scoff echoed in the cave. “I may be weak and broken, but I’m not stupid.”   


Katara looked up from the jerky, honing in on the mask’s narrow eye slits. Maybe he thought it wasn’t obvious— the cave was too dark or she’d mistake the glint of gold for a reflection of fire— but that was exactly what she saw.  _Fire. He was Fire Nation._ And given that he refused to remove the ugly mask (wherever she was stolen from had to be a long distance away and she was no more or less a threat with his face revealed), made Katara close on the only possible solution. He was recognizable; important. He was highborn.   
       

For the first time since waking up, pure fear coiled hot and violent in her stomach, nothing else diluting it. It sluiced through her veins like the water in the Southern sea, so searingly frozen in burned, so frightening dark she couldn’t anything other than clamp her mouth around a scream. She shivered.  
       

No one was coming for her.  _No one._  She was alone… and she had to get away from him.   
       

But, as she said, Katara wasn’t stupid. She was in no state for an escape. She’d faint again if she tried to fight. Her ribs showed through her paper-thin skin as clear as day. Her cheeks and eyes were hallow, sunken in without the fat and flesh she needed to look alive. Her days of starvation had left a ceaseless trembling in her fingers and legs.   
       

Glancing at the jerky in his hand, Katara made an offer, “Maybe I will eat. I’ll get my strength back, but you have to take me somewhere to bathe. I can heal myself better… if you honestly think the head wound is the worst of my injuries, I’ll die from infection within a fortnight.”

* * *

 

At first, he didn’t answer her.  


He’d made the choice to give her whatever was left in the canteen despite the risk, because he felt like he still had some control over the situation here. Nevermind the fact that even with the barest amount of water under her command, she could probably kill him. The fact remained that he  _felt_  more comfortable if he knew she didn’t have much to control, and especially if she needed to drink it instead of murdering him with it.  


Taking her to a stream outside seemed… foolish.  


But, keeping her here and weakened was exactly the situation he’d rescued her from; it didn’t feel right to do it himself. It would also be breaking his promise to her, and Zuko wouldn’t even entertain that as an option. Unbidden, a dusty Earth Kingdom town filled his mind, along with a young boy there who’d taken the dagger Zuko gave him and threw the gift back in his face once he’d been revealed as a firebender.   


He didn’t have to imagine how it felt to be hated for being who you were.  


What he’d told her was true–he didn’t think that he was better, and he probably was the monster she accused him of being. But he wouldn’t go back on his word. He couldn’t trust her not to make good on her threat to flay him like a fish, but would he really be in so much more danger if she were around more water? What was really the difference between disembowelment with a shard of ice or drowning in six inches of running water if he ended up dead either way?  


“There’s a stream nearby where you can wash up and… heal more,” he said, his throat stinging a little raw from talking so much at once after underuse. Still, he did not move the proffered jerky and kept his eyes on her. “But you need to eat something first. Unless you want to collapse halfway there and have me carry you the rest of the way.” As it was, she was so malnourished that he very well might end up having to help her even if she had eaten everything he’d set out for her.  


Zuko had taken her from her imprisonment and told her he wouldn’t hurt her, and that included from negligence. He hadn’t given any thought that he might have to be a proactive participant in her recovery, but it was obvious to him now that he should have expected that; she’d been too mistreated for too long before. And if she chose to attack him again once she’d regained her strength… well, that was something he’d figure out how to deal with later. For now he just had to take it one step at a time–even if he had to drag her along with him, figuratively or no.

* * *

If any deceit laced his words, Katara couldn’t detect it. Past experience warned her away from the food he offered; the wounds marring her body whispered otherwise. In the end, hunger won out. She needed strength if she was going to escape.    


Trembling fingers brushed his when she took the dried meat. She tore a bit with her teeth, then chewed slowly. Saliva pooled in her mouth at the flavor of smoke and pepper, but she remained deliberate, working the jerky until her jaw ached, swallowing when it’d been ground to nearly nothing. Overwhelming her starved, dehydrated body wasn’t a lesson she wished to learn twice.  


The water was offered to her again. Katara took exactly three sips before returning the canteen to her captor, and moved on to the berries. These were easier to chew, lighter on her stomach, but she ate away the same amount time as she did with the jerky, keeping an even pace.   


Upon finishing, Katara made a show of her empty mouth and rose shakily, the wall used as her support. She needed it: the cool, rough surface beneath her fingertips; a rush of… almost  _uncomfortable_  energy made her shake. It been— how long? She couldn’t remember a decent meal. Her capture came during one raid of many; the Fire Nation was relentless in their search for the Avatar. They left her home decimated, her tribesmen, dead. Hunters were scarce. Food sources were scarcer. Bland, boiled fish was considered  _the best.  
_

Aside from the jitters, however, Katara felt alright. No hallucinations. No dizziness. No black edges around her vision. If this man meant to drug her like all the rest, she’d notice the effects. Maybe—not trust—but some…  _cooperation_ was awarded him.   


She met his gaze once her footing was stable and short jab of her head said she was ready, that she’d go easily. 

* * *

 

Normally, he’d want to keep her in front of him, to keep an eye on her; she could bolt, or jump him from behind without warning. But he quelled those instincts and lead her out of the cave with a leading torch. Empirically, he knew she was too weak to do either of those things, and also that she had no idea where to go.   


Well–maybe she did, the thought struck him suddenly as they emerged out to a falling twilight. He extinguished the torch at the cave’s entrance as a precaution; he didn’t think he’d been followed to it with her, but in his experience, it was far better safe than sorry. Zuko could sometimes get a sense of body heat if he cleared his mind enough, and he could certainly feel where there was fire nearby. He supposed that she would also be able to sense water when it was close. Still, he took her to a narrow deercat path he’d found that wound through the trees before coming to a stream. It was difficult to see in the fading light, but he knew where it led, and so kept to the trail with relative ease.  


There wasn’t a lot of water–the monsoon season was still some time off, and this area didn’t seem like it had seen rain at all for at least a little while. When a few glances about assured him that the area was clear, he crouched and refilled the canteen to nearly overflowing, then stood and turned to face her.  


“Don’t take too long,” he said to her, perhaps a bit more gruffly than he really intended. It probably didn’t matter, but Zuko was nervous out in the open like they were, and if nothing else it would make him feel better if she didn’t dawdle. “I’m going to find more berries. We’ll return when I get back.”  


Without really waiting for her to reply to him, he slung the canteen across his body and slipped off along another deercat trail, back to where he’d found the blueberries before. With any luck, he’d be able to bring back more.  


In the growing dark, he ignored the niggling in the back of his mind that he was making a mistake, leaving her back there like that. She could be gone when he got back. Zuko doubted she had the energy to get far enough away that he wouldn’t be able to find her, but he wasn’t entirely certain she wouldn’t at least try. He told himself it didn’t matter–she hadn’t been part of the plan, and if she wanted to run off and get herself killed, then so be it. A scowl twisted down his mouth as soon as that thought entered his mind, and he wasn’t sure if he was more annoyed at that, or at the fact that he knew he’d search for her if she did decide to bolt.  


The blueberry bush he’d visited before still had enough berries on it to be worth his while, so he busied himself with picking them to give her enough time for privacy to bathe. He’d have to try hunting soon, if she was going to really start recovering her strength enough to fend for herself.

* * *

Her ears rang in his absence. It was one thing to have the steady thump of his heartbeat filling her head— she didn’t trust his intentions, nor his motives, but for whatever he had planned, he valued her health and strength— and an entirely different thing to be left with her own company. Her own memories. Her own morbid realization that he believed she wouldn’t run.   


If he thought such a thing hadn’t occurred to her, he was wrong. It drifted through her head the entire way to the stream. But, he already knew the conclusion she was coming to: she was far too weak. She’d die before the night was through.  


Climbing down the small embankment to the water was difficult, in and of itself. Katara’s breath came in short, puffing pants, and more than once, she feared she’d faint if she moved too quickly, stood up too fast. Then, undressing required a certain amount of strength; strength she didn’t have.   


Her bloodstained tunic and chest bindings were all Katara managed to shed. She gave up on the knot that held her tattered pants to her hips and waded into the water. It wasn’t very deep, maybe up to her waist in the center.  In her current state, she struggled to reach a depth that even lapped at her thighs.   


But, a faint glow was radiating beneath the water, her bruised, battered bare feet already healing. Katara sank down in the chilly stream, focusing her chi, and slowly drew her efforts up and up her body until the water’s level reached her neck. She was a tight ball beneath the surface, crouched over her legs, arms out and maintaining a faint grip on the water for balance against the current. Her breath was far quicker, far harder than she expected; her heart raced, too. It’d never been much of a concern to her before, the amount of energy that healing expelled. Now, Katara could feel what little strength she’d gotten from her food being eaten away.   


And away… _and away and away._ She was lightheaded _._ Ragged edges of black threatened her weary vision. Her pulse went from quick to rapid to erratic.   


S he was going to faint this time, she was sure of it. She’d be swept away, either into the hands of someone worse than her current captor or towards her death. Neither were an option. As much pain as she was in, as much healing as she still needed, Katara  _wanted_  to live.  


S he sucked in a loud gasp of air and lunged towards the shallow parts, landing on her hands and knees in a foot of water. With her attention diverted, her healing efforts waned. The threat of unconsciousness faded. Still, her body quaked from the drain of energy. It was with the last of it that Katara crawled to the very edge of the stream and rolled onto her back. She let the few inches of water lap at her skin, simply staring up at the sky. 

* * *

 

There was a bit of splashing around coming from the stream as he followed the deercat trail back, so Zuko supposed that she hadn’t tried to run away, after all. At the very least, it saved him from having to spend time tracking her.  


When he stepped around the last cluster of trees before the quiet rush of water, the sight that greeted him caught him entirely off guard.  


The waterbender lay on the opposite side of the stream bed in the barest amount of water, bared to her hips. Zuko nearly dropped the canvas bag full of blueberries when he saw her. From this distance, he couldn’t tell if she were alive or not, and the thought that he’d let her have privacy only to have her die somehow upset him more than he expected it to.  


Without another hesitation, he splashed across the stream, wading as quickly as he could to the other side. The bag of blueberries got dropped to the ground as he approached and knelt over her. Zuko was lifting his ungloved hand to her neck to check for a pulse when her eyes slid over to look up at him. Surprised, he rocked back onto his heels. Now that he stopped to actually look at her, it was pretty evident that she hadn’t ever even looked dead; he’d seen his fair share of corpses, and they had all had an… unnaturalness to them that the living could never be mistaken for having. He’d just jumped to the worse conclusion and rushed over without sparing a moment to think she might have just been exhausted.  


Instinctually, Zuko glanced to the stream, then back at her, as if he could decipher what exactly had happened. His eyes widened a bit and heat rose as his gaze came to rest on her bared chest, and he quickly averted his eyes in embarrassment. Now that he knew she was alive, he was suddenly very aware that she was half naked, and instead of lingering, turned and cast about for her discarded clothing. He ended up wading across the stream again to fetch it, and carefully kept his eyes from her as he took it back and handed it over. He turned his head from her to show her he averted his line of sight from her to help preserve any modicum of decency either of them could muster at this point.  


As his eyes tracked the barely visible treetops around them, his heart rattled in his chest as if it were trying to escape. It wasn’t just the fact that she was a young woman half undressed that had affected him; Zuko was given full view of the mistreatments she’d been subjected to, writ plainly across the thinness of her ribs. Yellowed bruises, scars both fully healed and scabbed, and burns riddled her abdomen. The worst ones were those that he thought looked suspiciously like fingers. A subtle pain radiated through his head, and it took him the span of a few breaths to realize that he was clenching his jaw tightly shut. With a controlled release of breath, he closed his eyes and tried to calm his mind and his heart rate.  


Zuko knew that there were abuses in war, both on battlefields and off, but to  _see_  it firsthand like this, on someone that he’d bodily carried to safety… His hands threatened to shake, and he gripped them into fists to still them. He acutely remembered how she felt in his arms, cradled and boney and shallow-breathed against his chest. He had no idea that beneath her threadbare tunic she still had such wounds. And to think, that despite all that, she’d taken what little water had been at her disposal and tried to fight him… Such strength of will touched some half-buried part of him and made it flare to life; it made him remember a war council many years ago, of a life he once lived and the one he was going to inherit then. It seemed so distant and impossible now, but this spark that had been relit beneath his heart made him want it again. It made him want to somehow make a difference, to help put a stop to the kind of treatment she’d received and that he’d seen in others.  


A derisive scoff escaped him, and his gaze lowered from the treetops back to the opposite embankment. That life was out of his reach now; he was pretty sure of that. His father was too entrenched in expanding and dominating the colonies, and his sister was still their father’s right hand in anything he wanted. Zuko doubted there was much he could do, disgraced and exiled and even perhaps thought dead as he was.

* * *

 

It wasn’t within her to flinch when he returned. She’d heard his footsteps as soon as he reached the bank, but even before that, his heartbeat warned of his approach. Her eyes slid open, hazy and dull, and she stared up at the blue and white mask outlined by the specks of stars. Katara blinked at his pale fingers.   


He must’ve thought was she was dead. That explained his ungloved hand stretched out towards her. She could’ve explained that she might’ve been, had she not lunged for the edge, and that’s what found her here, half-naked and over-exposed to him. But, the energy to school him on healing and the negative effects it had wasn’t there, nor was the modesty she’d have if the marauders hadn’t stripped it away.  


Shutting him out again— he trudged off, anyway— Katara inhaled deeply. She didn’t know if he’d bring her here, again. If this was it, her one opportunity to mend the damage to her body, she’d use every drop of her flagging strength. Around her, the water glowed bright again, then faded back to silver beneath the waxing moon. He was close. She opened her eyes and struggled to sit up, taking her clothes from him.   


Katara pulled her tunic around her shoulders, forgoing the time it would take to bind her chest, again. The cloth was dirty and tattered, anyway. She huffed through the motion of retying her tunic, trying to recover what strength she could. They still had the walk back, and the man’s pace had been quick on the way here, a struggle for her to keep up with before healing her worst injuries.  


Shifting on the mix of rocks and sand, her eyes found the path they’d come from, then zigzagged over the rough, rocky terrain. It’d been easier getting here because it was downhill; she’d have to climb, now. With the way her legs wobbled, without shoes, and the dizziness around her vision, Katara doubted she’d make it. She’d pass out or vomit, again… What would he do with her once his patience wore thin?  


But, she heard him scoff— Was it her? Because she was panting from shifting onto her hands and knees? A low whimper rose up in her throat, weak and unbidden.   
“

I can’t,” Katara said, soft and broken. “Please.  _I can’t._  Just…” She fought to control her breath, her pulse. There were tears welling up; desperate, pathetic tears over her plight and her dependence on the person behind the mask. Her throat tightened around them, making her voice crack and strain. “You can leave me here. I’ll stay ‘til morning. I won’t run, I swear it.”  

* * *

 

The way her voice fractured made the marrow of his bones ache and twisted something sharply in his chest. Zuko turned to face her again, assuming that if she was addressing him she was decent again; she was, though he notes her discarded chest wrappings still on the ground. They were filthy, stained with sweat and browned with old blood. Whatever it was in his chest twisted tighter.

She looked on the verge of breaking, this young woman who used her own drinking water to try and hurt him. Unfortunately, he didn’t have to imagine the kind of exhaustion she must be feeling—at least, not to extrapolate how much worse she must feel than he ever had. He’d gone hungry for days and days before, but he didn’t have to endure imprisonment and torture and abuse at the same time. Her shoulders bowed as she spoke, her fingers shaky and digging into the damp, sandy earth of the bank. He didn’t even need to look at her face to hear the tears choking her voice.

He couldn’t leave her here.

It wasn’t because he feared she might run, even as she promised not to, but that she wouldn’t survive. He didn’t know what other creatures or people might be nearby, and if either found her, he might return to her half-eaten corpse or worse, she might be captured again. From some of the things he’d seen over the years, there were plenty of Earth Kingdom thugs that were just as degenerate as the worst from the Fire Nation.

Zuko’s fists tightened. He wouldn’t— _couldn’t_ leave her to fate’s uncaring whims.

”No,” he said, surprised to hear how thick and ragged his voice was. “You’re not staying here.”

Clearly confused, she lifted her face to look up at him, and even in the rising moonlight he could see the salted tracks of tears down her cheeks. He couldn’t stand it. Only two strides, widened with bubbling anger, brought him to her. Lowering to one knee and laying a firm hand on her shoulder, Zuko got her to sit up with guiding pressure. Once she was more or less upright, he leaned in and scooped her up unceremoniously—one arm looped under her knees and the other bracing her back. She was still so light, and it stoked the flame beneath his heart with anger. This wasn’t the most energy conserving way of carrying her, but somehow Zuko didn’t imagine she’d care to be slung over his shoulders like a sack of grain. A small voice in his head also acknowledged that he didn’t want to carry her like that, either; she wasn’t an object he had to haul, she was a hurt person he was carrying.

He’d bring her back here tomorrow, he decided all at once, feeling how her breath still rattled within her chest. There was no way for him to tell just how bad her wounds were before he caught the glimpse of him that he did, but more than a few still looked awful. When she stood up and tried to attack him, he hoped she would recover quickly, but now he was worried she was far worse than he imagined. Unconsciously, his arms tightened around her as he waded across the stream and started up the rocky embankment on the other side.

If he hadn’t already decided he was committed to helping her before, he definitely was now. He would have to go hunting once he got her back to the cave and situated as comfortably as she could be.


	2. Chapter 2

What little fight was left in her— the fight that made her fist the earth, made her wish for the sight of his body pumping blood into the water— drained from her limbs with hardly more than a weak protest. Dirty hands gave up their hold on the dirt, didn’t claw and shove at him; there wasn’t a chance in the world of fending him off, as tired and hungry and  _damaged_ as she was. He could have her. He could hurt her. Whatever he wanted to do to her— trace the stains of fingerprints scarring her hips and waist, leave some of his own—  _he could_.

So, Katara gave up. Months in captivity had taught her that was better than fighting. Fighting made them angry; fighting made them determined to make it all worse. She went limp the moment he touched her, completely pliant as he lifted her from the ground. Her one, small defiance was slumping in his grasp, a wasted attempt to make herself heavy and cumbersome. He only gripped her tighter, his black-clothed arms tensing beneath her knees and around her ribs.  


It smarted, where bruises lining the length of her spine had yet to heal. Katara was sure at least a few of her ribs were fractured, they throbbed when he squeezed, and the fingers digging into her side had found burns she ignored in the water. But, she pinched her lips together with the jostling of his movements, staring weakly in the direction they were going.  


Eventually, even that was too much. Her head bobbed as he capped the rocky bank with meager effort. Then, Katara let it fall to his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut when he found the path, thoughts drifting off with the quiet sounds around them. The distant creek. The chirp of bugs. His breath was steady; his heartbeat rose with the incline, but he never once complained. Not long ago, he might’ve. She was solid, before her capture. A touch too lean, perhaps, but muscular and strong. Now, it seemed she weighed nothing to him: all skin and bones and barely a lick of body fat left, even in the places meant to be inviting.  


Katara tried not to reminisce on the horrors she’d seen; the pain, the loss. She was…  _fine_. Safe, for now; or, at least, in the hands of someone who’d feed her and keep her clean. As she slipped into feverish, fatigued dreams, she supposed that was her best, possible circumstance. 

. . . . .

She didn’t remember reaching the cave. How much time had passed? How long had she been asleep? Where was the man in the mask? — The answers weren’t there. The journey to their cave was a mystery. Memories of him were a blur.  


Beyond the dark walls, the faint trickle of dawn brought life to the scenery. Trees. Tall brush and grass. Dew covered the ground, sneaking into the entrance of the cave, but giving way where the floor met the green blades. It was pretty; the bird song added to it, and the peek of clear, blue sky she could see if she angled her head right. That was exhausting, however, and led to a splitting headache that kept Katara still.  


Her lashes brushed the pile of clothing beneath her cheek. She closed her eyes again.

. . . . .

Her brother haunted her dreams.

Far off and fading, she could make out his faint cries for help. He was bleeding. She rushed to him, her hands cloaked in healing water, eyes leaking tears. She had to reach him. She  _would_  get to him. But, no matter how hard she ran, whether through thick mud or deep snow or shallow water, he was never any closer.

He was always too far away, too out of reach. She wasn’t there. She couldn’t save him.

She watched him die all over again and a scream ripped from her throat, jolting her awake.  _“Sokka!”_

The same as in her head, there was no answer. All that was left was the sound of a crackling fire, the dark rocks of the cave, and the thud of her heartbeat against her ribs. It was night, again. A cold and quiet one, at that. She lay still for a moment, fingers digging into the dirt around her, chest heaving, then rolled to her side, eyes staring blindly into yellow flames. Sokka was gone.

But, she wasn’t alone. There was another— another pulse, another life. Katara recognized it, focused on it. The beat was firm, but calm; something consistent that she could cling to until her heart matched. It made breathing easier, less painful. She blinked, adjusting to the low light cast around the rest of the cave.

There. Her companion. He crouched on the opposite side of the fire, drawing a wet stone down the length of a curved blade. He still wore the mask, and his movements were deliberate and focused, but Katara felt the heat of his gaze through the dark slits. It made her skin crawl, knowing she’d been so vulnerable to his whims for— hours?  _days?_

“How—” Her voice cracked, hoarse and dry. Katara swallowed, gathering what little moisture she could in her mouth before struggling to sit up. “How long have you been watching me sleep?”

* * *

 

“I wasn’t–!” Zuko nearly dropped the blade and whetstone from his hands, surprised by her sudden question even more than the name she cried out in her sleep. He forced his voice to a more even tone. “I wasn’t watching you sleep.” He glanced away from her, heat flooding through his cheeks; he was grateful for the cover of the mask. The way she had asked the question somehow made him forget for an instant that they were in a less than ideal situation, with her still carrying too many wounds and he her ad hoc caretaker.

It was true, though, what he said. He  _hadn’t_  been watching her sleep–only glancing now and again to see if she was waking at all. The fact that she’d slept for a whole twenty-four hour period worried him a little; there was no way he could know just how much of her healing had gone into her head, and a small part of him feared she would never wake up. Other than that, she’d seemed stable enough, so he’d chanced going out to get more food and supplies. The nearest village was a good two hours’ walk away, but he’d been able to find nearly everything he was looking for.

Setting down the whetstone and dao he’d been sharpening, he rested his hands on his knees. Embarrassment fading, he looked back at her, studying how she moved and held herself to try and gauge if she was going to fall over or if she seemed steady enough. Zuko resisted the urge to rub or scratch at his face; wearing the mask almost constantly was beginning to bother him. When he wore it for his forays and escapades to steal food or supplies, or to take out raider or bandits, it had felt good to slip on another skin, so to speak. He was no longer Zuko, former Prince of the Fire Nation, but simply the Blue Spirit. He could pretend that was his life.  


Now that it had very nearly  _become_  his life, he was a little sick of it. It’d been simple logistics when he got her that he kept the mask on–he didn’t know if she would recognize him and attack, or flee to expose him. Not that it mattered much in the end; she tried to attack him anyway. By this point, he really just wanted to not have the damn thing on all the time, but it was still too risky. He didn’t know if she might recognize him, and as soon as she was healed, she very well could bolt and lead people back to him for the reward on his head. Or take her in himself if she were able to subdue him. The reward would be double, since there was a bounty both on his own head and the Blue Spirit’s. He couldn’t let that happen.

“How are you feeling?” he asked her, his voice coming out as a croak. Clearing his throat a little, he continued. “I… brought more food. And soap. For when we go back to the creek next.” And clothes–he had brought her clothes, which he had tucked beneath her head in a makeshift pillow. Zuko had no idea where to find her a new  _sarashi_ , though, so he’d gone back to the stream and scrubbed it as best he could and steamed it dry. A short pair of boots were placed neatly nearby, against the cave wall near where she slept all this while. He motioned to them now. “I had to guess your size, but those are yours too.”

* * *

 

_How was she feeling?_  Katara let her gaze fall from his. Her eyes flicked over the boots and the articles of clothing that he’d folded under her head.  _How_ was  _she feeling?_ Scared. Wary. What happened while she slept and what had he done to her? He’d moved her, obviously. Left her. Watched her. What  _else?_

She worried her lip between her teeth, driving away the possibilities with mild pain. He’d promised not to harm her; a promise he’d kept, so it seemed… and there was only one more day ‘til the full moon. One more day. 

Looking beyond the mouth of the cave, Katara perused the illuminated landscape, trying to remember any detail about where she’d been before this. The walk to the creek was steep; that was the only memory there. She could recall the sounds of animals, trees rustling in the wind. There were mountains around them. They might be in the Earth Kingdom, maybe not far from a village… if she could get him on the edge of a knife, get away, get out…  _by La_ , she would try.

And likely get herself killed while she was at it. She was in no shape for a mad dash to nowhere; she could feel it in her bones. Fatigue clung to her like leeches, draining her of any and all fight. Her visit to the stream for healing had stolen almost all of her strength; the wounds that hadn’t been touched— still bleeding and smarting and oozing— took the rest. 

Fingers digging into her forehead for a moment, Katara drug her hand down her face in frustration, then dropped it, finding her masked companion again. He hadn’t moved. It was almost amusing to her how _he_ seemed to be cautious; she was the captive, after all. Then again, she had threatened to run him through last time she roused from an fitful sleep… if she could heal just a little bit more, mend herself and her strength… she might be able to do it, might be able to kill the man behind the mask and survive outside this cave. She needed to go back to the creek. 

Wearing an insipid smile, Katara thanked him. “I’ll quite enjoy the soap. The shoes are nice, too…” She fingered the leather that sat close-by. “But, truthfully, I can’t remember the last time I had a bath. That might be the best gift anyone’s given me in a while.” 

* * *

 

“… I’m glad,” he said softly. Zuko didn’t want to think about how long it had been since she’d been near water, but he did. He couldn’t stop feeling how boney she felt against his chest, this girl who seemed so close to him in age. He knew what it felt like to lose body mass from hunger, to feel like one’s lips were on fire with every breath because of dehydration, but he couldn’t imagine intentionally sustained conditions like that. It made him sick to his stomach.

He wanted to say that it wasn’t a gift, it was just  _decency_ , but the words wouldn’t rise up his throat. The spark beneath his heart flared and hurt, for him to sit here and look at what his people had subjugated someone else to, only because she wasn’t like them. It made Zuko want to claw off his own skin to put it in perspective like that. How different were they, really?

He’d grown up taught all the propaganda, taught to believe he was superior to all the other nations simply because he was a firebender, but as he’d spent time among people of the Earth Kingdom, he saw just how much a lie that all was. The people of the Earth Kingdom were tenacious in spirit, and more durable than he’d ever expected. He remembered the young girl who showed him her burns, who showed him compassion even as a complete stranger—the only thing they’d had in common were burn scars. At least, that’s what he’d thought at the time. But, now, he remained quiet and still, and tasted the beating of his heart beneath his tongue. What words could he possibly say to her that would ease the scars of her treatment?

Zuko was never good with words, anyway.

Instead, he followed her gaze out the cave entrance with his own. He hadn’t forgotten her threat of the full moon, not by any stretch, but he wanted her to get back to the stream again. From what he could tell, she hadn’t had much energy to do anything other than heal herself a bit, no matter how she called it a bath. He just had to be careful not to take her there during the full moon itself, and he had plenty of time before that. Though she’d sounded deadly serious, he couldn’t quite believe what she said about bloodbending. Surely she had to have a source of water for whatever it really was.

”After you eat, if you’re feeling up to it, we can go back.” He wouldn’t wander so far next time, in case she lost her strength suddenly like before. Thankfully, when he’d taken the time to wash her  _sarashi_ , he’d cleaned himself and his own clothes as well. After several days not changing out of his tunic and pants after fighting, sprinting, and carrying another person some distance more than once, he’d been well past ripe by the time he stripped down and washed. He could imagine how she felt, having her time cut short in the water last time.

* * *

 

With the mention of food, her attention jumped from him to the fire. A skinned rabbit was stretched above the flames, the meat golden and glistening with fat. Katara hadn’t noticed the smell when she first awoke, but now, her mouth watered for the fragrant, smoky taste.

She didn’t dare reach for it, however; the marauders punished her for that. Even when food was brought— a scrap of old bread or moldy cheese— they’d taunt her with it, try to make her lunge or beg, whatever action they felt was worthy of further abuse and depravation. 

This captor was different, at least, in that he found no obvious pleasure in her starvation. He must’ve caught her eyeing the meat, because he drew a small knife from his boot and cut off a piece. The grease made his gloves glisten, made her stomach growl, loud and drawn out. She was too hungry to bother with embarrassment. Katara reached for the offering, burning her fingers, then her mouth;  _she didn’t care._

Before the first trip to the stream, he’d kept a careful distance between them. She was weak, broken, on the verge of death. Whatever he wanted, he wouldn’t get, and if he chose to take it, she’d only become more of a burden for him, something to lug around and carry. But, now… now she was stronger, better, gaining health, if only bit by bit. She could sit up and keep her eyes open and maybe— What if he decided he’d given too much? What if he took the food away? It wouldn’t be the first time she’d been teased like that. 

So, Katara scarfed it, and with the last, forceful gulp, she put her fingers to her mouth to keep the rich food down. After a concentrated breathe, an audible sigh, she thought she had a handle on her stomach and wiped the grease on her chin with the back of her hand, then smeared that down the front of her tunic.  _If only her mother could see her now_. The thought twisted her lips as she met her captor’s eyes.

“Thank you,” Katara said. “It was,  _uh—_ ” What? Did she tell him it was delicious? Like compliments would earn her next meal? She frowned, and her gaze diverted to the clothes laid out for her: a simple, green tunic and black pants. The outfit would do well when she killed the phantom and ran. It had the style of poor Earth folk, the color and status of someone whose only hope was to fit in, go unnoticed. The observation afforded Katara some doubt of just _who_ her captor was; if he planned to slip into crowds, he couldn’t very well do so with that mask.

Maybe he wasn’t bad. He certainly wasn’t good, given how he refused to show his face, even now. Katara stole a glance in his direction, weighing the price of pressing him for more answers versus the risk of further damages. He said he wouldn’t hurt her, sure… but, she had yet to make him angry. 

And, perhaps… perhaps, she was a coward in the end. She’d learned to fear fire. She wasn’t the type to forget her lessons.

Shrugging off her long lost compliment, Katara used the cave wall to climb to her feet, clothes clutched to her chest and boots in her hand. Her head bobbed towards the cave’s entrance—all she wanted right now was to heal, to feel  _clean_ —and she tried to keep hidden any hint of pleading. “I’d like to go, whenever you’re ready.”


	3. Chapter 3

The way back to the stream was a little easier than the last time. He went more slowly, for one, to keep a better eye on her. They didn’t quite walk side by side, but he wasn’t five steps ahead like last time. Though it was full dark, later than when he’d taken her to the stream before, there was no need to worry about not carrying a torch–the moon was more than bright enough to light their way. It was just barely under full (one day away, Zuko reminded himself), and shone down through the spring leaves to light their path.

It made Zuko think about what had happened at the North Pole, how Zhao had tried–and succeeded–to kill the Moon Spirit. Had his uncle not intervened, the world might be in a far worse place than it already was. Though, it had not all been his uncle’s help from what he’d told Zuko. There’d been a young Northern Water Tribe girl who somehow had… revived the Moon Spirit? Or become it? Zuko wasn’t clear on what his uncle meant what really happened, but whatever she’d done, it’d kept the moon in the sky. It also had secured the surrender of the North to the Fire Nation, to prevent such devastation and imbalance from happening again.

He let out a controlled breath to release those thoughts. Now was neither the time nor the place to reminisce–he had to stay on the alert. Staying in one place for as long as he had was making him a little twitchy, and he felt the need to be constantly checking to make sure no one was following them, or setting up an ambush. A small part of him whispered he should still make sure the girl didn’t run for it, but a larger part reasoned she wouldn’t. She still needed to heal, and while he imagined how much she probably wanted to be clean and in better clothing, he wasn’t under the illusion that she would trade those for a chance of freedom. Not that he was keeping her captive; he was trying to  _help_  her.

By the way that she’d thanked him not once, but twice so far, he hoped that she might be beginning to believe he really wasn’t going to hurt her.

He paused for a moment at the top of the embankment that lead down to the stream itself, and glanced back at her. She still held the fresh clothes and boots to her chest, and kept frequently flicking her eyes from the trail back to him–not wanting to lose her sight of either, he surmised. When she had almost reached him, he started down the embankment, again moving slowly in case he needed to move quickly. She’d been all right the first time making it down, so he didn’t think she’d fall or anything. Getting back up… he might have to carry her again, he realized. She wasn’t quite as weak as the last time, but she was still nowhere near strong, and he wasn’t sure just how much another healing session would take out of her.

When he reached the bottom, he stopped and turned to watch her make her slow way down, tracking each of her steps. She made it down with no issue, though slightly out of breath from the exertion. Zuko walked to the water’s edge, peering down at the dark reflection of the mask he wore on its surface.

“Here.” He dug into the satchel he’d brought and held out the bar of soap as he took a few steps back from the water toward her. “’l’m staying close this time in case something happens.”

* * *

He was staying. Katara tried to hide her discomfort at that. She may’ve been wrong, anyway, hasty in her conclusion that this man didn’t have the same inclinations as all the rest. He was a man, nonetheless, and she was helpless, defenseless.  _Hell,_  she probably had the look of one who’d lay quiet through an unwanted fuck if it meant food. 

Or  _soap._ Her eyes dropped to the creamy-white bar in his outstretched hand. It felt like submission to take it, but her skin crawled and her scalp itched and her nails had a black film beneath them. 

She snatched it from his palm and skirted around him. The stream greeted her with its cool current, tickling her toes and lapping up her feet. Going no further than ankle deep, Katara shed her threadbare tunic, then her trousers and the bindings around her hips and waist, too. What used to be blue was brown, caked with dirt and dried blood; what used to be white was ruined, stained with gods knew what: urine and semen and blood— blood.  _Fresh blood._

A quiet, rushed sigh left her; relief, tainted with a note of… sorrow? Katara was quick to stifle any further sound, quick to stifle her emotions—she didn’t know if her captor was watching—and she took the soiled wraps deeper into the stream. 

Naked and submerged, covered by the noise of the stream, she let the faintest cry slip free. The nights of fretting, of lying awake, too weak to move after one or more of the raiders had his way… well, she didn’t have to anymore. The moons that’d passed without a bleed, whether from starvation or pregnancy, could go forgotten. She didn’t have to count the weeks; she didn’t have to wonder and worry, wishing she’d been better, fought harder, done  _something._

She could figure out what to do about her bleeding later, how to hide it and keep clean. Her old tunic and trousers could be cut into strips, stuffed inside her bindings… 

Katara would wash those last. She started with her undergarments, then waded back to shallower water and moved onto and up her legs. She worked the soap into a lather, spreading the white suds (they ran brown and dirty down into the stream) over her thighs, between them, across her hips and stomach and chest. The soap made the cuts and burns sting; a breath hissed through her nose, but Katara ignored the throbs of pain. As soon as she lowered in the water again, scraping dirt and soap from her skin, she focused her efforts on healing her wounds. 

Another round—rinse, repeat, heal. Katara felt clean; at least, superficially. In her limbs, _in her soul,_  she’d probably never feel whole again. The fatigue seemed permanent; the memories were ever-present. 

She dunked her face under the water and tried to forget, scrubbing at scabs and caked mud, then moved onto her hair. The chocolate waves, or, what _used_ to be waves, were a matted, tangled mess, clinging to her neck and cheeks, unsalvageable no matter how she worked at the knots with soap, water, and  _patience._

That evaporated quickly. Her motions became jerky, frustrated. Katara tore at the snarls, whining in pain, then whimpering as wads of wet, broken hair fell apart in her hands; it wrapped around her fingers, pulling from her scalp and washing away in the babbling water. She bit her lip, hard enough to taste blood, then gave up.

“Do you have your knife?” The careful silence around them shattered beneath the strain in her voice. 

Her captor started on the bank, turning around—apparently, he’d allowed her  _some_ privacy—as she stood up and splashed towards the shore. Her fingers shook, extended out towards him, palm up. Her breath was heavier than she would’ve liked it to be, too heavy to feign full strength, but should he try anything, Katara thought enough power lingered in her veins to put an end to him.  _Maybe._

She swallowed, insisting, “Please. I need it, and not for anything malicious. I won’t use a blade when I kill you.” 

Whatever his reaction, Katara couldn’t see it. He didn’t say a word, either. Stooping, the wraith pulled the knife from his boot and set the cool steel in her hand. She wrapped her fingers around the jade handle, squeezing tight as she marched back to the water. Facing him, bare and bruised, had been the easy part. 

This—

Katara gathered the mess of hair sticking to her back and pulled it over her shoulder. What was left was long enough that the ends reached her waist. Before she’d been captured, her hair had been silky, thick, and rich. Now… well, there really wasn’t a choice. She grunted and pulled the blade through the weak strands.

—this was  _hard._

What little healthy hair she had now fell to her chin, the rest fell from her fist into the stream and Katara cried for her mother.

Her people spent  _years_  growing their hair after a loved one’s death. It was a show of mourning, a sign of respect. While her brother and father had moved on after several, Katara’s hair had grown and grown and grown… ten years later and she’d done nothing to it but the slightest trims to keep its life. Now it was gone, rinsed from her fingers like the last decade of her life was nothing.  

Maybe it was. Maybe _she_ was. After all, she seemed to be everyone’s precious little prize. Even the firebender, who’d politely averted his gaze again, wouldn’t let her alone and Katara knew why— the bounty, the price on her kind. The Fire Nation hunted watebenders relentlessly. Now that he knew she was a healer, too… she didn’t see an ending in which she was free. He’d sell her. No matter anyone’s good intentions, they always did. She wasn’t stupid and she wasn’t foolish. 

_One more day,_  Katara thought, wading out of the stream. One more day and she could stop pretending to believe in him. One more day and _his_  blood would stain her face.

She clung to that promise like it was the last of her strength. It was, in a way. It kept her moving, despite her weary limbs, moving through the urge to sleep as she wrapped her sarashi around her breasts and cut her old tunic into strips. Katara tucked a few lengths between her legs, then pulled the water from her clean bindings and wound the white fabric around her thighs and waist. She dressed quickly after that, assuming her companion to be annoyed at the length of her bath, and stuffed wet, sandy feet into the boots. 

Her toes flexed inside the leather. “You guessed right,” Katara remarked, “on my size.” She did the laces up and straightened, drying her cropped hair with a flick of her wrist and collecting her spread of belongings. The soap and knife, she handed back to him. “I suppose I should thank you again, for bringing me back.” 

* * *

He nodded, dumbly, in response to her thanks.

Even at the sound of her voice, Zuko didn’t keep his eyes on her, instead sending his gaze to the ground between them. It was stupid not to, he knew that, but he couldn’t quite make his body obey.  _She’d cut her hair._ He didn’t think he was supposed to see that; he  _felt_  like he shouldn’t have seen that. His own scalp tingled and he had to resist the sudden urge to run a gloved hand over his own short hair. It still felt like yesterday, not four years ago, that he’d used that very same knife to cut off his own phoenix plume. His heart leapt to his throat. There was no way he could know if the length of hair meant the same to someone of the Water Tribe, but the way her voice had wavered and her carefully muffled tears after told him it meant  _something_.

Something private that he was intruding upon, and despite the fact that he couldn’t have known she was going to do that, despite the fact that he’d only stayed nearby because she’d collapsed last time, he felt like he shouldn’t have been here. He shouldn’t have been privy to something so personal.

All at once, he wanted to rip his mask off and be done with wearing it. He didn’t know if it was because he felt he had to bare a part of himself after she had, or because she hadn’t killed him with the knife like a small part of him feared. She could have, easily, but she handed it back to him instead. Was it that sliver of trust that made his stomach twist, or was it the desire to share vulnerable exposure that made him want to reveal his face to her?

Instead, he slipped the now-dry soap back into the satchel and sheathed his knife back in his boot.

She looked better in clean clothes that weren’t threadbare. Still too thin, he thought, but better. From the rhythmic sounds of the water while she was still in the stream probably meant she went through several bouts of washing, and he didn’t blame her. He hadn’t quite realized just how much dirt was caked on her until she stood before him now, clean. The sight of her short hair made his heart hurt a little, but he could also see now that she’d cut it off because the greater length had been badly damaged from whatever she’d been put through physically, and from lack of nutrition. Even what remained didn’t sheen with a good health, but it wasn’t matted or terribly brittle-looking.

Realizing he was studying her, his spine stiffened. “Were you able to heal more?”

She nodded in reply, but it honestly didn’t ease anything inside him. He should have felt glad she was regaining strength and healing and eating more, but her slow recovery just made him angrier at her captors. Even when he’d been in command of his ship and had to be a little rough with people to try and get answers, he made sure never to mistreat anyone. He’d lain awake the night before while she slept off her first healing session, unable to banish the memory of finger-shaped burns on her hips from his mind.

“Let’s go,” he said, breaking through his own thoughts sharply. He began walking back, unsure of how to sort through the rush and curl of emotions suddenly now within him. “You can finish eating.”

Reaching the embankment, he stopped, looking back and waiting for her to catch up. When she slowed as well, he motioned for her to keep going. He wanted to follow behind her in case she couldn’t make it back up again. Even though she seemed far better off than her previous time healing, he didn’t want to take any chances. What would be the point of bringing her here to get better if she fell down an embankment and cracked her head open right after?

She went slowly, but made it fine on her own in the end. He was three paces behind her, and they kept that distance back to the cave. Even though he’d made his fire further in to keep light from escaping, he could smell the cooked rabbit before they reached the cave mouth, and it made his own stomach rumble. He hadn’t had the chance to eat yet himself, and now that they were back and he was more sure of her increasing health, his own appetite came back, reminding him that he needed to have some of that rabbit, too. If he were still traveling with Uncle, he was sure they’d have some kind of pot handy to make a stew. As it was, all he had was his knife, so they’d have to make do with strips of meat instead.

He crouched by the fire and carved out several pieces for himself, setting them aside, then several more to offer to her. “There are more blueberries, too,” he said, motioning with an incline of his head to the satchel now lying not far from the fire.

* * *

She ate whatever she was given, and washed it down with half the canteen’s contents. To save the wraith a trip to the stream, she refilled it by drawing on the water in the air. Full and cold, another perk of being a waterbender, Katara handed the canteen back. It all earned her a surprised sound from her captor, but Katara shrugged him off. She was master; using what was around her came naturally… besides, it was fun showing off the power up against, even if her feats were small.

Ice cold eyes studied him into the night. He offered to stay awake, to watch the world beyond the mouth of the cave. Maybe he was trying to create an illusion of safety—  _no one else will touch you,_ his tone said— but Katara prayed he felt fear under her gaze. She watched him move, sure steps and long strides. His body was lean beneath his black clothes, strong and muscular. 

_Hah._ The private thought made her smile.What good would his strength do when she controlled it? One more night; she’d be free.

Katara pulled her attention from his post at the mouth of their cave. The moon had risen fully, high in the sky. The barest sliver was missing from it, the edge only faintly unrounded.  _La,_ if only she were at full strength. As the hour grew later and the white glow brighter, it was all too easy to find her captor’s heartbeat, to focus on it, to poke and prod at it until she fell asleep. 

She’d stop it, she promised, curling onto her side in the dirt. She’d relish it, savor what she couldn’t do to the men who hurt her but what she could pour out on him. Vengeance.  _Pain._  She’d watch as the light left his eyes and she’d wish he were someone else, but perhaps… perhaps his death would satiate this growing thirst for penance. It’d been festering inside her, cutting through her like the knife through her hair. So much of her was angry, and the few pieces that weren’t… those were the pieces that’d been lost to the fire. 

Her mother. Father. Brother. Their faces followed Katara into her dreams. Their voices whispered sweetly to her, soothing her in her sleep; but, nothing gentle could ever last. She woke with a start come sunrise. 

The fire had died in the night. Katara stared at the red coals for a while, then rubbed sleep from her eyes and sat up. Whisps of smoke drifted towards the cave’s opening, where her companion slept against the wall. She wondered how late he’d been up, and if he’d stayed up to keep watch, as he said, or watch  _her._ Either way, he didn’t wake until she jabbed his leg with her foot. 

“I thought your kind was always up with the sun,” Katara said smartly. Her chin jabbed towards the back of the cave. “Fire’s dead. If you give me your knife, I can skin the second rabbit while you restart it.” 

* * *

For several racing heartbeats, Zuko stared up at her through the narrow slits of his mask. The fog of sleep still clung to the edges of his mind, and he forced himself to reprocess what she’d sad to him.  _Fire’s dead. Skin the second rabbit_.

Nodding, he drew out his knife and handed it to her with only the barest reminiscence of hesitation. She could have killed him at the stream yesterday with it, but hadn’t. He didn’t think she would now. If she really had wanted to, he’d been asleep, and she’d clearly seen where he kept it; it would have been easy for her to slip it out and slit his throat before he was fully awake.

Zuko frowned as she took the knife from him and went back into the cave to skin the rabbit carcass. He hadn’t meant to not be awake when she got up. The tolls of the last few nights were started to catch up to him, however, having barely slept during any of them. The predawn had not been far off when sleep had overtaken him, and he’d reasoned that his inner fire would be rekindled by the rising sun like it always had. He’d not banked on just how tired he was; even after a few hours’ sleep, he still felt exhausted.

His eyes widened. Wait.  _Your kind_ , she’d said. He glanced back toward her abruptly, watching her back and arms shift as she worked on the rabbit. Thudding against his sternum, his heart raced again. She knew he was a firebender.  _How?_  Was that all she knew, or did she suspect who he was? He hadn’t taken his mask off except for when he was well away for her, and even then had kept those times to a minimum over the last few days. If she knew, was she simply biding her time to subdue him? She clearly was regaining her strength and power, that much had been evident when he watched her draw water out of thin air.

With that thought, the worry that maybe she  _could_  do something to his blood during the full moon flitted across his mind, but he dismissed it. Every cave had plenty of moisture in it, especially with a stream so nearby. It was probably condensation off the stone that she’d bent, not the air itself. That sounded as impossible as bending someone else’s blood.

His bigger worry was whether she knew who he was or not, and what she might try and do with that information.

Zuko drew in a steadying breath, and exhaled it slowly. There was no indication she knew who he was beyond  _firebender._ He knew he’d been careful with the mask. Maybe she was just assuming, since he kept it on all the time, or maybe she’d seen the color of his eyes. Maybe that was all she knew.

He got to his feet and went to crouch by to the embers of the fire, and stirred them a little with a stick. They were still fairly hot, and would catch light again quickly. It’d be easy as a flick of his wrist to start them up again, but not only did he not want to confirm he was what she thought he was, but there was no more fuel for his fire to feed off once he ignited it. He straightened and told her he was going to get more sticks for the fire and got a wordless grunt in response. She was intent on her task, and Zuko felt a twinge of respect for that.

As he gathered a small armful of sticks to burn, he rolled everything over in his head. There wasn’t  _trust_  between them, but there was something. It was fragile, at best, but it hadn’t been there at first and now it was. He believed that she wasn’t going to kill him with her knife, and he was thinking that maybe she was starting to believe he really wasn’t going to hurt her.

If his uncle had been there, he’d urge Zuko to think about what he was going to do next. It was all well and good he’d saved her from further mistreatment, but he had no real plan for what to do when she was healed enough to fend for herself. Still, he didn’t worry. Zuko would just… figure out that part when he got there. His uncle worried too much about him sometimes. Then again, if his uncle were here, the waterbender would probably trust him far more than she did Zuko. He had a way with people that Zuko just didn’t seem to.

Remembering his long-unseen uncle gave Zuko pause, and sadness threaded fingers through all the parts of his heart. Nearly four years had gone by since he’d last seen the older man, and no small part of him ached when he thought too long about it. He hoped to one day find him again, but Zuko wasn’t sure his luck would allow for that.

He picked up a few last sticks and returned to the cave.

The waterbender had finished skinning the rabbit and had skewered it on the spit, having removed the remains of the previous one. He also noticed that she’d carved off the remaining meat from the first rabbit and piled it neatly on a strip of cloth torn from her old tunic. It was from this pile she plucked a piece to eat as he was returning. Her head whipped around to follow his entrance as if she feared he had come to take something from her. Behind the mask, his mouth pressed into a thin line at the thought of how long she’d been treated as such for her reaction to be that.

Without saying anything to her, he walked around and stacked his armful of sticks above the embers, then relit it with a set of spark rocks. They didn’t exchange many words beyond the perfunctory ones needed to get the second rabbit set up and cooking over the new fire. The remaining meat she’d piled was split between them, as well as the rest of the blueberries he’d collected before. Zuko debated the wisdom of going back to the nearby town for more food; neither of them could live off rabbits and blueberries alone. His eyes lifted to her, watching her eat. Especially if she were to really start regaining her health again.

It could serve two purposes, he mused. He could get a few more supplies, and it would also give her the chance to escape if she knew who he really was and wanted to turn him in. He’d take her to the stream again at midday, and if he came back to find her not there or here in the cave, he’d have his answer. Of course, he’d have to be wary of an ambush, but that didn’t worry him, either. The Blue Spirit hadn’t been caught in any of the many traps set for him over the last four years, and he wouldn’t be caught now.

Once they had both finished, he checked on the rabbit. “Would you like to go to the stream again?” he asked, not turning his face up to her, though he looked with his eyes. He wasn’t sure just how much she would be able to see of his eye movement, this close to the fire.

A moment passed in silence before, “Yes.”

He pretended to fuss with the rabbit a little while longer, then nodded and stood, watching her until she got to her feet as well, and they left.

When they reached the embankment, he stopped. She didn’t realized until she was several feet down, where she then paused and looked back up at him.

“I’m going to get more food,” he told her, fighting the urge to do something with his hands, like ball them into fists, or worry his fingers against their palms. “I’ll be gone for a few hours. If you’re not still here when I get back, I’ll meet you in the cave.”

Without waiting for an answer from her, he turned and vanished back down the other side, headed toward the town again. He went at a quicker pace than he normally would have, trying to reduce the time it took to get there and back. He’d made this choice to leave her, to try and test this diaphanous semblance of trust he thought was forming between them, but it still made him nervous. If he was wrong and she did know his identity and set a trap for him, he’d have to fight back. He’d have to fight  _her_. After having felt and seen her mistreatment intimately, that prospect did not sit well with him. He hoped he wasn’t wrong.

It only took him an hour and a half to make it to the outskirts of the town. He crouched in a familiar hiding spot to catch his breath, running a short list of necessities through his head as he waited for his heart rate to calm. Once he was ready, he moved a rock aside to reveal a bundle, wrapped canvas. It was easy to sneak in and take what he wanted as the Blue Spirit at night, but not so much in the middle of the day. The bundle contained Earth Kingdom clothing not unlike the ones he’d taken for the waterbender, and he quickly changed into the long brown  _changshan_ , strapped the  _dǒulì_  onto his head, and fingered a few copper and silver pieces from his small stash of money before slipping them into a pouch in the  _changshan_.

He didn’t linger long in the town. To everyone there, he was a vaguely familiar face of a wandering refugee, so similar to many who passed through. Zuko purchased a modest pack of dried foods, a new whetstone, and, after much hesitation, another canteen. His nerves were stretched taut the entire trip, making him more on edge than he normally was and causing him to forget to even politely thank the shopkeep for their service. There wasn’t much else he thought was needed–he knew there was a lot more that they  _could_  use, but even if he had thought more items would help rather than arm a still potential enemy, he wouldn’t have been able to afford much else. The pouch of coins dwindled to a few coppers.

Finishing his business in town in short order, he hurried back out to his hiding spot. Nothing there had been disturbed, so he changed back into his black tunic and slipped the Blue Spirit mask over his face again. He set off at the same clipped pace he’d set earlier, and made it back to the stream in only a little longer than it had taken him to get to town. Zuko slowed well before reaching it, and scouted with as much stealth as his skills could provide him to search for signs of the waterbender and any kind of ambush. He found evidence of neither.

Approaching the cave in the same cautious manner was helped by the lengthening shadows of the evening. He’d been gone all afternoon, which gave the waterbender ample time to plan and set up whatever she wanted, if she was going to. His heart thudded in his chest despite himself, and he forced his breathing to be long, even, and quiet. The cave was much as he’d left it earlier, and even a quick trek around the area surrounding it yielded no signs of ambush. The tension in his chest lessened somewhat, and he made his way back to the cave entrance, supplies in hand. If she was here, and not waiting for him at the stream, maybe that meant she wasn’t going to try and attack him at all. Moonrise wasn’t too far off, but if she’d decided she believed him enough to come back here and wait, maybe that meant she wouldn’t carry through with her threat however she had planned to do so.

She was sitting not far from the fire, intently watching the rabbit cook. The remainder of the tension that was tight between his ribs went slack at the sight of her, more than expected. He joined her at the fire, slipping the pack off his shoulder and rummaging through it until his fingers closed around the canteen. Drawing it out, he held it out to her.

“Water will run out too quickly with just one,” he said. He also handed her half the dried goods, then carved off fresh strips of hot rabbit for them both.

* * *

“Not necessa—” Katara bit down on her tongue. There was a retort there, hanging heavy, but she’d learned months ago that her smart mouth led to nothing but pain and trouble. So, she kept her lips sealed shut, kept hidden the remark that she could refill the one canteen whenever the need struck, and took what he offered.

It would be better, she reasoned, to have two. One for drinking. One for fighting. Guilt prickled at the base of her skull—  _stealing is wrong_ , her mother would scold— but what the fuck did matter if she stole from a dead monster? She had to survive… and to survive, she needed water, food, and a weapon. Her thoughts jumped to the knife in the firebender’s boot. She’d take that, too; along with his swords (she could sell them), his bag and clothing, and the small stash of food she’d hidden with the scraps of her old tunic. 

But, for now, she had to remain calm, keep up her appearance of weakness and cooperation. Katara had the sense that her companion felt  _companionship_ , however threadbare it was. She hadn’t stabbed him; if he was as smart as he acted, he’d know it was all calculated. Should she miss, should he catch her wrist… it’d be over. He’d kill her. 

_Soon enough, though…_  The promise sing-songed through her thoughts, bringing a smile that she kept private. Katara cast a look towards the mouth of the cave, noting the long shadows and the slant of red-gold light across the landscape, then sat back on her haunches by the fire. 

Those golden eyes were on her,  _firebender eyes._ She bristled slightly, every hair on the back of her neck standing up at once. 

“Are you going to stare all night?” Dragging her hands down her arms, Katara shot a glare over the flames. “Are you one of those who likes to watch? Maybe you won’t touch me, but you’ll memorize the scene.“ A sick smile contorted her lips, disguising her unease. “Just like the marauders’ captain.”

It’d be weakness to admit, but the wraith’s silence made her heart race. He had the freedom to move about, wander about the landscape. He could be sneering at her, smirking at her, laughing behind that mask with cruel satisfaction at her pain. And she was trapped, like a fish in a bowl. All of her expressions and thoughts were on display to him. The histories and horrors lining her body were there for his observation. 

Katara dropped her eyes from his. Her brief defiance leeched away and she tugged down on her tunic’s sleeves, trying to hide what little skin was showing to him. She shouldn’t have said that. She knew it. Not only did it give too much away (if he hadn’t already guessed from the burns on her body), it likely angered him. And, an angry man was—

The wraith was on his feet. What for, she couldn’t guess. All she caught was the fluid motion in her peripheral vision and it sent her heart into her throat. “Don’t! I’m sorry! _I’m sorry.”_


	4. Chapter 4

Every ounce of indignation that had Zuko on his feet and wanting to pace immediately fled. He froze in place, gaping at her. For several echoing beats of his heart, that was all he could do. Eventually, he recovered, pressing his lips together.

He’d…  _frightened_  her.

He’d only stood up, and that simple movement had sent her cowering.

In an instant, he crouched back down in place. His hands, concealed behind the rise and fall of his thighs, clenched into fists so tight they hurt.

“Don’t,” he began, but his voice was shaky. He couldn’t trust it. She thought he was  _angry_  at her, that he was going to  _hurt_  her. She thought he was going to—  


Zuko drew in a breath to calm himself. It didn’t work. He  _was_  angry—angry at all the men who’d done this to her. Who’d bruised and burned her. He felt his inner fire swell inside him. He promised himself that he would make sure they regretted everything they had ever done to her and anyone else.

He released his breath and tried to steady his voice. “I’m not going to hurt you. I promise.”

Very intentionally, Zuko unfurled his hands and shifted them into plain view. It wasn’t quite a spreading of his hands to show peace, but it was reminiscent of that same intent. She watched him askance for several long, silent minutes where he held himself as still as he could. There was one time where he might have compared her to a wounded animal–but she wasn’t, and he’d learned the hard way that was a disingenuous point of view. She was a young woman who’d endured horrors he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy. In fact,  _she_  was supposed to be his enemy, but working to help her back to health, watching her simply exist in this cave with him over the past few days, Zuko just couldn’t see her as the enemy. He’d gone through much the same as he traveled across the Earth Kingdom for four years. They weren’t the enemy, they were all just  _people_. Just like the people of the Fire Nation. Just like him.

As he watched her hold back the tremors that threatened to overtake her hands, a sudden and strong desire to take off the mask surged within him. He’d always considered it necessary to protect himself, but was it really? She had no choice but to be who she was; she didn’t have the luxury of something to hide behind. His heart quickened a little. She’d already taken steps toward trusting him, hadn’t she? But the mask still was a physical barrier, a reminder that he had more control than she did in this situation. What if he did remove it? Would she really recognize him and use that against him, or would it be one step closer to true trust he could initiate? Zuko worried his lip as his thoughts spun wild. The wanted posters for him—for _Zuko, Exiled Fire Nation Prince_ —were a few years old, and there were still Earth Kingdom people out there who assumed he was just a scarred refugee like so many others. This girl already knew he was a firebender, but she might not recognize him for who he was.

The only sound for a long stretch between them was his heartbeat in his own ears.

She was watching him intently now, but he couldn’t read the expressions that flitted across her face; he couldn’t guess at her thoughts. Did she think him a monster, as she’d called him before? He wouldn’t be surprised—for all that he’d tried to show goodwill, he still kept the mask of a spirit over his face. Maybe he should take it off, break down that barrier.

His left hand drifted up to the edge of his mask, just in front of his jawline.

Zuko hesitated.

He let his hand drop back down. He couldn’t do it. It was too risky. He hadn’t survived this long with bounties out on both his true identity and the Blue Spirit by taking unnecessary risks, and revealing himself to a waterbender who had a well-earned vendetta against firebenders was an unnecessary risk. She may not have killed him when she had a chance to so far, but that was shaky ground to base anything off of. 

He waited until she seemed to relax a little again before moving. She was still tense, that much was clear, but it wasn’t as bad as a few minutes ago. That was probably the best he could hope for in their current situation.

He looked away from her, turning his head so that she would know. “I’m sorry.” Whether he was apologizing for frightening her unintentionally, for not being able to remove his mask, for all that had been done to her, or because it was his people who had hurt her, who’d hurt the entire world—Zuko couldn’t say. He silently decided he meant all of them.

Another expanse of silence filled the space between them.

Then, very quietly, he said, “I can show you where they raid the most. When you’re stronger.” Zuko didn’t think he needed to clarify who  _they_  meant.

* * *

 

She couldn’t call it a victory, making him stiffen, then sit down on his haunches. It  _wasn’t_  a victory. It was a testament—to how damaged she was, how wounded. He saw her as some sort of fragile being, if he, her enemy, could be convinced to back down with nothing more than a strangled plea. 

Of course, the thought crossed her mind: perhaps he didn’t intend her any harm. Perhaps his reaction was not to her igniting words, but to her history. Perhaps…  _he pitied her…?_ She didn’t want pity; Katara couldn’t even claim sympathy. She wanted her brother, her father, her  _freedom_. 

She watched him, like the opportunity would somehow appear. She watched him spread his hands like a surrender, watched him struggle for the correct words, watched his fingers pause between his lap and his jaw, heavy with trepidation. Her heart was pounding harder than his when he brushed the edge of the mask. 

This was it, the moment that marked her as  _his_ or his _companion_. Katara decided she’d stick by him, no matter his face, his name, his past, if the mask came off. That display of real trust wouldn’t go— _gods damn him._  His hand fell away and something like a shot of fury ran hot and liquid through her veins. A breath pulled sharp and loud through her nose. 

“You’re not letting me go.” 

Her statement drew the wraith’s attention. Even through the narrow slits, those golden eyes caught the firelight, holding a mix of alarm, uncertainty. It took everything within her not to cower against the wall, took a heartbeat for Katara to remember the rising moon outside. She was quickly gaining power, and with it, all her daring. 

“Do you think I’m naive?” Katara shot across the cave, her glare dark. _His_ chances of surviving were growing ever dimmer. She was growing ever braver, now that she had his unwavering stillness. “You’re sorry. So what? You can take me to those men. So  _what?!_ What use are your apologies? What good are your promises?” she pressed. “You haven’t given me your name, you haven’t shown your face. Yet, you ask— _demand—_ my trust. You tell me you won’t hurt me, you only have good intentions with me, but  _you_ refuse to trust _me.”_

She made a show of shaking her head. She didn’t have a mask to tuck her emotions behind—so be it. He’d have to see the anger, the rage, play out all over her face and know that his life wasn’t safe in her hands. She was furious. She was hurting. And, she was battling some twinge of betrayal at his insistence on wearing his mask. 

Katara shifted under that thought, uncomfortable with it. She had no  _bond_ with this man. She had… nothing. A growl broke the seal of her lips and harsh, blue eyes pinned the monster to the other side of the cave. 

“What intentions could you possibly have for me? Are you going to make me into your demon wife? Dress me up and drag me around?” she asked. “Or, will you keep me here? Have a warm body to fill your bed and prepare your breakfast? I might not be hurt by you, no. I might be in kinder hands, but I’m still a prisoner, firebender.”

* * *

 

Her words engulfed him like a tidal wave. They pressed his chest tight and he fought the urge to gulp for air.

_I’m still a prisoner._

_That’s_  what she thought of this? Anger rose in him, swift and hot and tingling his fingertips. “Intentions?” he echoed, unable to keep his voice from rising, unable to keep from rising to his feet again. “I don’t  _have_  any intentions—all I’m  _demanding_  of you is to not go and get yourself killed! You’d be  _dead_  now if it weren’t for me!” Some small voice in the back of his mind that sounded much like his uncle said that this was a bad idea, but he ignored it.

“I didn’t have to save you, and I’m  _not_  keeping you here! You could have walked out any time while I was asleep.” To punctuate his point, he gestured to the dark mouth of the cave with a sharp sweep of his hand. “You could have  _killed_  me at any time while I was asleep, too–how is that not trusting you?”

Without sparing a single moment to think before he acted, Zuko reached down and tugged the knife out of his boot–scabbard and all–and tossed it haphazardly against the cave floor. It clattered and spun on the rock near her. “Here,” he said, knowing that he was acting exactly like a petulant child and not caring. “In case I was wrong to  _trust_  you wouldn’t use it.” She lashed out at him just when he thought she was starting to  _believe_  him, and it hurt. He wanted her to feel the same connection that he did, and she  _didn’t_. Zuko hated how much that stung him.

“And I’m not a demon!” he snapped, hiding his hurt behind his anger. The waterbender glared at him, her eyes furious and daring him to prove he wasn’t. “I just—I  _can’t_.” Zuko hated how his voice cracked like the last remnants of wood breaking beneath the heat of a fire.  He couldn’t meet her gaze. Scowling at the hot prickling at the corner of his eyes, he glared at nothing in particular. She couldn’t understand. Her nature made her an enemy of the Fire Nation, but his father– _his father_ –had exiled him from the very country he was supposed to inherit one day. His  _home_. His  _father_ had put a bounty on his head,  _dead or alive_.

All at once, Zuko felt like he was going to burst into flame if he stayed in that cave on second longer. It was all too much–the accusations she flung at him like shards of ice, the betrayal of his own father that still stung like a fresh wound seven years later—and a frustrated growl clawed its way up out of his chest. He whirled and stormed out of the cave without a glance back to her, and stalked several paces away from the opening before turning on the stone and punching it. He felt a bone crack and the warmth of splitting skin, but didn’t care.

Turning, he didn’t even bother to look at his hand, instead folding his arms over his chest and glaring out into the dark. The sun had set and full night settled across the sky.

She was angry at him for not revealing who he was—but she hadn’t either. The only difference was that he knew what she looked like. He didn’t know her name, and he didn’t have any immediate plans on asking her for it; he’d been too concerned with seeing her back on her feet to think about her name.

So what if he knew what she looked like? Her face was a little too gaunt right now, but she looked like any normal young woman would. She didn’t have a permanent reminder of dishonor and shame dominating half of it like he did. He couldn’t risk her seeing it and knowing who he was and trying to turn him in. He  _couldn’t_.

_But he wanted to_. Zuko leaned his back against the rough stone wall and stared up at the sliver of moon that crested above a cloudbank. It didn’t matter what he wanted. He had to do what he needed to survive.

And so did she.

Though it was obvious, something he already empirically knew, it still stung him like a dash of ice water.  _I’m still a prisoner_. Of course that’s how she saw this. She’d gone from being in one cave with firebenders all around her to another, with yet another firebender watching her. The fact that he didn’t have her tied up probably meant very little to her, all told.

His head fell back against the stone, and he closed his eyes. A gentle wind rustled the young leaves around him and sent a chill running up his spine. He let out a slow exhale and focused on his breath to warm up.

As soon as she was strong enough that he was sure she wouldn’t die—or get captured again—if left to her own devices, Zuko would go. It’d be better that way.

He tried not to focus on why that decision bothered him.

* * *

 

She remained frozen far too long in his absence, coiled with the expectation of fire and licking pain. Even after his footsteps disappeared around the bend in their cave and his heartbeat reduced to nothing more than a dull throb, she was still, tensed. So much for her display for fire and fight. 

A curse whispered off the rocks as Katara let go of a held breath. How great a fool she’d been; she  _wasn’t_  his prisoner? Any night, any time he was absent, she could’ve vanished, and she’d… stayed. For what? The shelter, the food, the company—Katara could argue for any, but the simple truth remained: she was afraid. 

Running may anger him. Fighting back certainly did, despite her only weapons being words. How much worse would he react to her disappearance, to her battling him should she be found by him? Katara shot a look beyond the cave. 

Demon or not, he was out there, hovering nearby. She felt the hot current of his blood—adrenaline, pain, frustration—as though it were her own.  _As if_ she could leave; he was hiding behind that mask, taunting her with promises of freedom and vengeance, but she hadn’t been wrong in calling herself a prisoner. What other reason did he have to keep so close? No—whatever he said, her only true escape would come with his death, with the marauders’ deaths. 

And she could find them on her own. She  _would._

Eyes closed now, Katara focused solely on him. The crackle of the fire faded, the hoots of owls and distant howls: all gone. She heard only his heartbeat; she felt only his breaths. 

There was this phenomenon, she’d learned, whenever she bent another’s blood. Her victim couldn’t move. If she willed it, they wouldn’t be able to breathe. But, beyond that, worse than that, her victims couldn’t  _think._ They lost all autonomy. Their hearts would slow to match hers; they’d feel whatever emotion coursed through her veins. White hot anger. Cold apathy. Katara knew the exact moment her opponent knew: they were going to die. Fear dumped into their blood, made their throat tighten and eyes widen—  

She wondered how her captor would react, wondered if he felt the slight grip she had on his heartstrings now. At full strength, Katara could’ve killed him from this distance. A mere twitch and he’d keel over, dead before he hit the ground, but fatigue lingered beneath her skin’s surface and she knew she’d need the moon’s full power. 

_Later. Midnight,_  Katara promised herself, catching a change in him. He was moving, coming back into the cave. Her eyes opened and flicked to the cave’s entrance, tracking the wraith’s return to the firelight. 

“Are you…  _better?”_  she asked as he took a seat. “Based on prior experiences, it’s unexpected to see my keeper so conflicted, but as long as you’ve made peace with your… moral dilemma… can we move on?” Katara knew she had to remain in his good graces if she meant to spend the night unbound and unguarded, and despite her refusal to apologize, the opportunity to make amends presented itself. 

The knife he’d flung in her direction lay forgotten in the dirt. She picked it up, fingers around the blade, and offered it handle first. “I don’t need this to fight. I can make sharper daggers out of ice.” Katara gestured for him to take it, but her attention fell to the way he cradled his hand, and the spike of energy thrumming in him made sense. 

“Idiot,” she muttered, dumping his knife in the dirt. “You hit something, didn’t you? Just like my brother—always punching things with no concern for the consequences, all to display his masculinity and strength.” Sarcasm leached into her voice, but Katara grabbed her canteen and approached her captor nonetheless. “It’ll make for a sleepless night if you don’t let me heal that.”

* * *

It startled him, her mention of a brother. It made him frown down at his hand and remember his own sister. The brief mention of her sibling held more affection in it than he had felt from his own since they were children on Ember Island.  Lost to that thought so abruptly, he almost missed her coming closer, but an odd sense of warmth prickled the edges of his awareness, reminding him of her proximity. The prickling was similar to his fire sense, but felt different. Zuko lifted his face to see her standing before him, just outside an arm’s length away.

She—what was her game? He narrowed his eyes at her, suddenly suspicious. She’d yelled at him and thrown accusations at him, but now completely turned around and asked if he’d gotten over his own tantrum, and offered to heal his hand. Not only that, either, but she mentioned her family—something he would have thought she’d keep close to her chest, and not let an enemy know.

Maybe… What if she really was starting to realize he didn’t want to keep her against her will? Why else would she offer to heal his hand? Him having any sort of incapacity would only benefit her if she truly believed he wanted her captive. What if she was extending a peace offering? Why else would she talk about family to him? Something snagged in his chest.

Slowly, apprehensively, Zuko offered up his hand. He didn’t move to step closer to her, instead leaving the decision to close the distance or not up to her. Perhaps she would simply heal him from beyond his reach—he wasn’t quite sure how it worked. His gaze didn’t leave her as she took another step closer. She looked up at his mask for what felt like a long stretch of silence, then let her gaze fall to his outstretched hand, one of hers coming up to grasp it gently. Her fingers were cool against his own, and his heart pounded in his ears.

With surprising care, the waterbender turned his hand from side to side, examining the damage he had caused it. He winced as she moved it. At least two of his knuckles were red and swollen, with blood covering them and spiderwebbing down along his fingers and the back of his hand. He’d felt the distinct crack on the back of his hand near his wrist and knew the bones there were probably broken, but his whole hand since had melded into one burning throb of pain. It was impossible for him to determine any other damage that had been done.

Her head bent over his hand, Zuko felt something niggling at the edge of his senses again, but it was different from before. It felt almost like an unseen shifting nearby, but before he could focus on it properly, it was gone. Below him, he heard the waterbender murmur something about broken fingers and popped knuckles.

With fascination winning out over the dregs of apprehension, Zuko watched as she uncorked the canteen with one hand and used the other to summon a stream of water from it. She sheathed her hand in the water and grasped his hand again. Her touch was firmer this time and made him suck in a sharp breath at the sudden cold pressure on his broken skin and bones. The cold didn’t remain for long, however, as the water began to glow, and then began to warm to a level that was almost hot to him. At first, it was jarring and painful, and Zuko stiffened and had to force himself still so as to not snatch his hand back immediately. His other hand fisted tightly; his nails carved half-moons into his palm.

What came next was as terrifying as it was amazing.

He  _felt_  his bones and tendons mend themselves back together. He  _felt_  the scraped cuts of his skin close and become whole again. It hurt probably as much as causing the damage did, but it felt much stranger. Zuko had been hurt plenty of times, sometimes even fairly badly, but healing had always been a slow process, never this… immediate.

When the glow of the water finally faded, she released her hold on the water and it splashed ineffectually to the cave floor between their feet. She still held Zuko’s hand with her own, still partially covered in blood that hadn’t been washed away with the water, and commanded him to move it without looking up at him. He did as she asked, tentatively moving his fingers, then flexing the whole of it. Eyes wide, Zuko stared first at his hand, then at her with astonishment. She’d… completely healed it.

She watched him move his hand around a few times with apparent satisfaction with her own handiwork, then looked up at him. All at once, Zuko felt rooted to the stone when the blue of her eyes alighted on him. They were dark and glittering in the firelight, like the cobalt depths of the ocean beneath starlight. They stood closer than they’d ever been aside from him carrying her, and he swore he could feel the heat coming off her.

“I—” He swallowed, feeling heat flood his cheeks. “Thank you.”

Not waiting for her to respond, he was the first to move away, feeling awkward with his heart in his throat and not understanding why. He retreated to the fire—a safe place, near his element—and fussed needlessly over the rabbit on the spit.

“I don’t have a… moral dilemma, and I meant what I said earlier. I’m not your keeper,” Zuko said abruptly, still facing the fire, and his voice held none of the angry vehemence that it did before. Now he did chance a glance back at her, but she merely shrugged as if she may or may not have believed him. Well, at least she wasn’t shouting at him again.

Instead, she retrieved his knife from where it’d fallen to the floor and offered it to him a second time. He took it and slid it back into place in his boot, then in turn offered her more of the cooked rabbit. She took it and they ate in silence.

It was difficult to tell if the silence was strained. His heart rattled oddly in his chest, and Zuko couldn’t quite meet her gaze for too long. He could still feel her body heat—or at least, he thought he could—and it made him feel overly sensitive to anything he might say or do. So, the rest of the evening played out in relative quiet, with him unable to get a clear read on her mood. She’d been nice to him when he came back from his angry exit, and healed his hand. Her concern had been immediate and… genuine when she saw blood. And, much her anger seemed to come from her thinking he didn’t trust her. Maybe… maybe he should make a show of good faith. Maybe he should remove his mask.

He let the fire grow dim as the night deepened around his thoughts. It was late, he finally settled on, instead of any action. He could make his decision tomorrow, in the light of day, whether to take it off or not. Zuko wasn’t sure he’d trust his choice tonight to be the right one if he made it with his heart dominating his mood.

The waterbender was already lying down with some of her old clothing rolled up as a makeshift pillow, so he stretched out a few paces away from her. In the growing dark, he spoke quietly as he looked up at the cave ceiling

“I wasn’t trying to show off or anything. I was just… frustrated. But my—” Here, he faltered for a moment, but it passed quickly and he went on. “My sister’s always the one showing off, reminding me and everyone else how strong she is. I always struggled to try and keep up with her.”

Silence answered Zuko, and he wondered if she had already fallen asleep. He listened for several beats to her breathing, trying to determine. Her breaths were still somewhat shallow, but that could have easily just been from still not being at full strength.

Still, his voice even softer, he said, “Thanks again for healing my hand.”

When she said nothing again, he pressed his lips together and exhaled quietly. Maybe he should still leave. Maybe he should take off the mask. Zuko closed his eyes. He’d decide tomorrow.


	5. Chapter 5

She heard him, but she ignored him. Better to keep quiet, than to return his gratitude and risk her voice breaking. It was guilt, this feeling that gnawed at her insides. He’d saved her, and the longer she spent cooped up in this cave, the truer his promises became: he meant to keep her safe. 

But,  _why?_ Katara knew of the price on her head, on the head of every waterbender— The Fire Nation wanted them, was hunting them, at the decree of some pompous admiral who believed the Avatar was hidden among her kind. It was a folktale, in reality. The cycle ended with Roku, but gods be damned if the Fire Nation didn’t fabricate any and every excuse to kill off the remaining nations —and her keeper was a firebender. She could feel it in his veins. 

No. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t let the fucking ash maker walk free because her heart conjured up some debt owed to him. If he was due anything, Katara had made it up tenfold by healing him, by allowing him some peace and a dreamless sleep before she killed him. 

Holding her breath for a moment, she listened for his. It was slow and steady, deep like she expected. She was stiff from lying awake for hours, but the moon called out to her _—finally—_ and Katara knew it was time. She had her things ready. Her canteen and old clothes were beneath her head, hiding stolen nuts and berries, and scraps of the rabbit. And, she had the position of his possessions memorized. His dao were at his hip. His bag lay near his head. She’d snatch it, fill it with her clothes and few things; she’d kill him.

“Goodbye, demon,” she whispered, pushing up from her makeshift bed. A dark smile painted her lips, keeping at bay any doubts that she was doing the right thing. Who could say how many he killed? Even if it was no one, his element didn’t allow for his innocence. She’d heard too many die by flame; her family among them. She’d never sleep again without reliving their anguished screams.

And now she wanted to live  _his._

The shift to her feet was smooth and lithe. Despite her lingering injuries, the moon gave her new life. She was humming with energy. Her blood sang of power and dominance and Katara hardly needed to concentrate to feel the lull of his. _Thump. Thump._ His heart was so slow, so lazy; defenseless, as she crossed the few paces dividing their cave and glared down at him. If only she could see his face. 

“Hah…”A shaky laugh tore from her lips, so quiet not even a ghost could hear it.  _Why couldn’t she?_

Her breath coming quicker, shallow with sweet anticipation— How good would it feel to be vindicated? How alive would she be taking a firebreather from the land of the living?— Katara called on the moon’s deadly power and shifted her weight. 

Slowly, maybe she was enjoying this surge of confidence too much, his body’s control slipped away. She began at his feet, plucking at the veins, following the arteries up his legs. Reaching his hips and his stomach, she felt the beginnings of him waking up. His head jerked. His arms flailed. A strangled scream rose and died, ending in a choked sob somewhere inside his throat. The pain was reaching him, setting off alarms in his head. His fingers made claws, scraping at the earth. She felt his muscles firing, fighting for purchase— He wanted to buck. He couldn’t. He wanted to run. He couldn’t. He wanted to drive a knife through her heart, but  _his heart was_   _hers._ His bladder let its contents go when she seized it.

“Did you think I was lying?” Her sneer rang off the cave’s walls. The only thing she let him have were his eyes, and they snapped to hers, so wide, so gold, and so frightened. Katara laughed. “Firebender. Ashmaker. You think you’re better, because you offered me a bar of soap and didn’t force your cock in me, but you’re just like all the rest of them.”Keeping her grip on him, she bent over, reaching for the lip of the mask. She ripped it away.

_“You’re a nightmare!”_

The painted wood clattered across the stone, but no sooner had her words echoed than recognition forced its way in.  _The scar._  Even the faint red light cast by the fire’s dying embers, the stain of ruined tissue marked him. Her eyes danced across it; her thoughts danced back to four years prior. A steel ship. A hardened crew. An angry prince. 

“You?” Her question was quiet, just a whispered breath. In her confusion, in the dilemma of seeing a boy, then blinking and seeing a boy all grown up—a man, now—Katara’s hold slipped. She felt him struggle, felt his heart stutter back into his own rhythm and a second cry tore from him, like a wounded rabbit. 

Just like that, the mirage shattered. Boy or not, prince or not—she’d been a girl once, hadn’t she? His people had stolen that from her, beat it out of her. And now, _he_ had her.  _Prince Zuko,_  the disgraced son of the Fire Lord responsible for her living hell. She was supposed to believe he meant her no harm? 

Katara regained control, more brutal and cruel than before. This time, her voice was laced with poison and accusal.  _“You.”_

* * *

The hold she regained on him was made even worse and more painful because it had slipped when she saw who he was. He felt the wet track of a tear slip down his right cheek—somehow, that bit of water had escaped her grasp when she grabbed hold of him again. Then again, what use did she have for his tears when she controlled the blood within him?

_This is bloodbending_ , he thought distantly.  _This is how I’m going to die_.

Spots formed in his vision and he had to remind himself to force in another thin mouthful of air. Her eyes bore into his as soon as he was able to focus on her face again, the syllable her accusation ringing clearly through his ears.

Zuko could feel everything, even as he could move nothing. The cold sweat running down the line of his spine, the warmth of urine clinging to his pants—he was almost hypersensitive to all of it. None of his muscles obeyed no matter how hard he tried to move them, and his chest  _hurt_. His heart slowed to a rhythm of the waterbender’s choosing, and the brief instant where she’d lost it and it’d tried to resume its natural pace made it hurt all the more when she forced it back to her will. Even the breaths he took were labored, like he was fighting a losing battle just for air.

What was it she’d said? She’d gut him open like a fish? She didn’t even need to do that, Zuko supposed. She could just… stop his heart if she wanted. Maybe freeze the very blood in his veins. He squeezed his eyes shut—the only things he found he had control over—and more wet slipped from his right eye.

She’d promised him she’d do this, and he’d been careless. He hadn’t quite believed she could actually bloodbend, or that perhaps it meant something different than what it sounded like. He’d started to trust her. He was sorely mistaken, and if he somehow,  _somehow_  got out of this alive, he would never underestimate her again. He hadn’t thought he had in the first place, but he would be sure to never again assume, regardless of what he thought was or was not possible.

He felt a wave of nausea roll through his gut and he opened his eyes again to try and quell it. Zuko found her still staring at him, expectant and angry. She knew him, she knew who he was. He had been right, after all.

His chest burned as he dragged in another ragged breath. What if he  _had_  taken off the mask earlier? Would she have taken control of him then? Or would she have never done this, if only he had shown her his face?

No—she would have still done this. She’d promised, and he saw in the hurt in her eyes and the way it bowed her shoulders that she would have always done this.

Still, she hadn’t yet. She’d seen his face, knew who he was, and hadn’t yet stopped his heart or gut him from neck to navel. Perhaps… she was waiting? Her stance was steady, but her hands trembled. She was waiting for him to recognize  _her_. Staring at her face, his eyes searching her features, Zuko frantically wracked his memory to place her. He’d never traveled with anyone in all the years he lived here in the Earth Kingdom as the Blue Spirit, had never encountered any waterbenders as the refugee Li– _where could he know her from?_

A memory resurfaced, from four years ago. Before he’d left his uncle and taken off on his own, before the Siege of the North, before Zhao killed the Moon Spirit. Before, when he had a ship. When he was still searching. His eyes widened. The girl from the village at the south pole. That’s who she was.

“Please,” he managed to gasp around her control, and his throat burned from the effort. “I’m sorry. I’m  _sorry_.”

He shouldn’t have manhandled that old woman. He shouldn’t have threatened her village when they couldn’t tell him anything about the Avatar. He shouldn’t have broken down their wall. But he hadn’t  _hurt_  anyone. He’d turned Zhao away from following the same course, because Zuko  _knew_  her village would have been destroyed then. He hadn’t wanted anyone hurt. He’d been such a fool, then, trying to search for the impossible to obtain something he would never get. He should have known better,  _he should have known better_. Zuko wanted to lay all these words at her feet, but he couldn’t say them. He didn’t have the air or control left.

He supposed it didn’t matter anyway, if she was going to kill him.

He lowered his gaze from her and felt a fresh trail of wet run down his cheek. He was so tired, tired from struggling to breathe, tired from always trying and always failing. He couldn’t even do something good right.

“You’re right,” he rasped. “ _Me_. I deserve this.” A wheeze rattled his compressed lungs, burned sharp like fire in his chest. His heart felt like it was going to burst. His voice turned small, deflated and beaten and too much like the broken boy he used to be, that he still was. “I’m sorry for what I did in—in your village.”

* * *

“You’re sorry?” A laugh tore through her, sick and demented. It rang off the stone walls, piercing the night like a siren’s call, as inescapable and uncontrollable as the myth itself. “Do you truly believe I want your sympathy?  _Zuko_ of the  _Fire Nation._ ” 

Spitting his name like a foul curse felt good; it felt right. It felt like justification for this, for the rage igniting her frame and making her control over him all the mightier. She brought him to the edge, right to the brink of killing him. A broken sense of certainty slid down his spine, and Katara watched the realization dawn in his eyes— _he_ would  _die tonight_ —as her own cut into him like razors through taut flesh. 

She could see all of him: the purple tinge to his lips, the ash of his skin, the golden light in his eyes as they rolled back into his head. And beyond the physical responses, she  _saw_ him— _Prince Zuko._ Fire made up his veins, hot and wild and terrifying. It burned through him, searing at the edges of her control, and Katara remembered the same white-hot energy singeing the air when her mother died. 

It didn’t matter his lack of responsibility. It only served to make her angry. She stooped over him, one knee burrowing into his stomach, adding to his pain and taking what little air he had. The other served to balance her in the dirt, while her fingers clawed at his chest and wrapped up in his drenched shirt. Katara yanked him up by the fabric; it wasn’t hard, with his inability to fight and her power over his blood. His face was a mere breath from hers, damp and glistening and contorted with fear. 

This close, she could smell him. Smoke. Heat. The sweet musk of sweat clung to his hair and his skin. The stench of terror and fresh piss lingered like a putrid undercurrent. 

This close, she felt like a goddess of death. 

“Repeat it,” Katara hissed, spittle hitting his cracked lips. “Tell me you’re sorry,  _Prince.”_

Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. If she wasn’t bending him, she knew he’d be sobbing. begging. pleading for his life. He couldn’t, or so she thought. Somehow, between a keening gasp and shallow pants, Zuko managed:

_‘I’m sorry. I am.’_

She dropped him. She felt his body’s natural reaction to the crack of his skull on the floor of the cave, but she didn’t hear it. For a moment, she heard nothing— just her slow breaths and the reverberation of her heartbeat. It matched his. 

Until it didn’t.  _Gods_ fuck _him!_  

For all her screaming, aching, and bleeding, for all the horror the Fire Nation had inflicted, she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t end him. 

A firebender took her mother, but Zuko wasn’t that man. Another took her brother, but Zuko wasn’t that monster. And as desperately as she wished to feel righteous and vindicated by his death, she couldn’t bring it upon herself to blame him for what the marauders did, not when he looked at her like this.

Like a boy. Like a beaten, broken boy. 

Her grasp loosened, not enough to allow him any movement, but he could breathe again. Thready inhalations burst through his pale lips. His fingers twitched, curling tighter into his palms and leaving indentations. A sound like a dying animal echoed faintly in the cave as his heart stuttered and stumbled within his ribcage. 

Katara left him like that, stepping over his body to collect his bag and the leather sheath that held his dao. Perhaps it was wrong of her, to threaten a man’s life and take his belongings, but she refused even a lick of remorse. She let him keep  _his life,_  his worthless, murderous life; that was enough kindness. 

Slinging his things over her shoulder, Katara marched towards the cave’s entrance without a single glance back. 

“You’re not forgiven,” she said, staring at the moon up above. “Live with that.”   


With a short breath, she let Prince Zuko go; then, she stepped out into the night and she was gone.   


* * *

Unconsciousness draped over him like a heavy shroud.

_You’re not forgiven._  Those three words echoed in the blackness surrounding him in a mantra. Zuko felt like there were more, but he couldn’t understand them. His heartbeat stuttered in his ears and drowned out everything else. The sounds of the world were muffled and combined in an indistinguishable mess.  


Fleeting images crossed his vision. The waterbender had her arms full with his pack and his dao were strapped across her back; the firelight flickered against the cave wall, then was nothing more than a faint glow; his mother’s robes swayed above the floor in front of him; his uncle sat leaning over him and offered him a cup of tea; red and blue dragons curled around one another in the dark. Zuko couldn’t tell if he was dreaming or not. Were these the last dredges his mind could conjure before he died?

Would he wake in the spirit world?

He dragged a rattling, burning breath into his lungs.  _No_ , he thought blearily. He hurt too much to be dead.  


Zuko slowly blinked his eyes open.

It was still dark out, but he had no idea how much time had passed. The fire had already been in embers before she—before she’d attacked him. Sunrise was still a long ways off; he couldn’t feel the stir of fire in him that dawn always brought.

His throat seized for a moment. What if what she’d done to him had cut off his bending somehow, he thought frantically. What if dawn was swiftly coming on and he simply couldn’t feel it anymore?

Zuko’s shallow breaths increased in speed of their own accord, and he had to squeeze his eyes shut and command himself to breathe more slowly, more deeply.  _In,_ pause,  _out._   _In. Out_. It was a rhythm he’d practiced more often than he would ever admit throughout his childhood, and his body eventually responded to the familiar, even pace. That wasn’t possible, he told himself, his mental voice calm. No one can take bending away. Once he regained his strength back, he would be able to bend just like before.

When he felt more in control again, he opened his eyes and took mental stock of himself. His clothing was soaked through from sweat and other things, his heart felt like he had been running hard for an entire day, and the rest of his muscles had a bone-deep ache that he didn’t think would go away any time soon. Otherwise, he felt intact. He curled his fingers, testing his ability to move himself, and a little choked sound escaped him when they responded. Having bodily autonomy was something one took for granted and didn’t ever think about until it was taken completely away. He swallowed thickly. Zuko had been restrained before, but having his blood bent like that was… something entirely different. He couldn’t even struggle against it because no part of him responded the way it should have.

With even more hesitation, he opened one hand and focused. His heart fluttered in his chest again, and for a moment, nothing happened. Then warmth bloomed in the form of a small, weak flame cradled between his fingers. Zuko released it with a heavy sigh deflating his chest. He felt more drained of energy after bending immediately after waking, but at least he knew it hadn’t been blocked or taken away. She hadn’t been able to do that.

Line formed across Zuko’s brow as he thought about the waterbender, what she’d done… and what she hadn’t done.

She’d told him she was going to bloodbend him—that she was going to kill him. He’d underestimated her, and then he’d paid the price for that. It had been terrifying.

And, what’s more, he’d been utterly certain he was going to die. He was sure that she was going to kill him—he remembered the exact moment he knew with brutal clarity.

But, then, she hadn’t.

Still he lay on the cold stone ground, breathing, feeling his heartbeat thud against his ribs. Why hadn’t she killed him? She’d made good on her promise to bend his blood, and he was sure—he was  _sure_ —that she was going to stop his heart. Zuko could see it in her eyes when her face had been inches away from his; he knew the anger and hurt he saw there, and he knew that she desperately wanted to make good on her full promise to him. He had  _felt_  the complete control she had over him, the pressure between his lungs and in his veins.

_But why hadn’t she?_

He would get no answers staring up into the dark, and so rolled onto his side to push himself up. At least—that had been his intent. Zuko was only able to manage rolling onto one side, wheezing and gasping for air. Everything hurt, and he felt his muscles shaking and spasming from the effort even that small change in position took. Still, he pressed one hand to the stone and attempted to push himself up. He only got a few inches off the ground before he collapsed, only barely able to hold himself on his side.

For several moments, Zuko just stayed like that and breathed, shaking and trying to gather his strength. There wasn’t much to gather, and he didn’t think he’d be able to do much more right now. While he tried to recuperate, he glanced around the cave. The waterbender was gone. So, that much of his feverish imagining had been real. A few more moments showed him that everything else was gone with her, as well, aside from the rabbit carcass over the remains of the fire. She’d taken his bag and his dao.

Zuko sucked in a breath, a thought coming to him quick as a slap. His uncle’s teacup had been in there. It was the only remaining possession he’d had, and the realization that she’d stolen it from him hurt almost worse than all the pain from the bloodbending. A strangled growl scraped through his throat at his utter inability to run out after her and get it back; he could barely move. One hand clenched into a fist— _the one she’d healed_ , something distantly reminded him in the back of his mind—and he ineffectually hit it repeatedly against the stone ground.

The rest of the items in the bag, they were all replaceable. Zuko didn’t even spare them another thought. Even the dao he didn’t mourn too long; he could find another pair somewhere without too much trouble if he needed to. But, his uncle’s cup—he  _had_  to get that back from her. For all he knew, his uncle was dead, and had been for years. That could be all that was left of him.

Vision wavering from exhaustion and pushing himself too much after such an ordeal, Zuko stared out toward the mouth of the cave. As soon as he was able to walk again, he was going to track her down and get that cup back. He couldn’t lose that last thread to his uncle. He  _couldn’t_.

* * *

Bloodbending had its price, Hama told her. Shaky legs. Shallow breathing. She’d be left winded and weary and  _sick._  For stealing control over another’s body, Katara supposed she deserved that, and the nausea never lasted long, not when she could justify it. Maybe that made her cruel, although… she was beginning to think she was not.

It wasn’t more than five minutes before she wretched in the dirt.

She could still see his face, twisted up in agony, etched in her memory. She could practically taste him, the sweat and smoke that clung his body. His heart, his lungs, his blood— he’d folded beneath her grasp so easily and she knew he could feel how desperately she wanted to kill him. Yet… he apologized to her. He said he was sorry.

Zuko of the Fire Nation. The Crown Prince. The rightful heir to the throne… he was sorry. _Too little. Too late._

He never took off that fucking mask, which meant he didn’t care if she trusted him. In fact, it likely meant more than that: she wasn’t oblivious to the price on her head and she wasn’t so stupid as to believe the Fire Lord’s banished son couldn’t be tempted by redemption and restoration. So, she wouldn’t care about the betrayal that’d glistened in his eyes. She wouldn’t give a shit about his pleading whines.

Katara straightened and wiped her mouth, then trudged on. He wouldn’t wake for a while, but she wanted distance between them when he did.

** _______ **

She knew Zuko had come from the south. In her fevered dreams, the ones where a heartbeat thumped beneath her cheek and the smell of woodsmoke wrapped around her warmly, she could hear the sound of the creek. He’d followed it up into the mountains, carrying her away from the marauders camp, near the coast.

_‘I can show you where they raid the most,’_  his whispers echoed,  _‘when you’re stronger.’_

A sense of smug pride settled over her when she found the creek, nestled among rocky terrain and pine trees. She filled his and her canteens, collected more berries in the moonlight, then followed the rushing water down the mountainside. Sometime near morning light, the forest thinned, giving way to the rocky cliffs that overlooked the sea.

She  _was_  stronger, stronger than him. And, she didn’t need him for anything.

** _______ **

Except… maybe hunting. Her stomach growled loudly.

Having left the rabbit behind, Katara dumped the contents of Zuko’s bag into the dirt. She’d been hoping for some jerky, like he’d given her when she first woke, but the only food was mashed blueberries and handful of scattered nuts now littering the ground. Among other things, she found soap, a straight razor, used, but cleaned bandages, a few coins, and small clay teapot with a mismatched cup.

It struck her as odd. Not so much that the items didn’t match—he’d been a wanted bandit for years now—but, that the teacup was much finer than the pot. She picked it up, turning over the smooth porcelain in her hands.

_“Made in Shu Jing”_

That was a Fire Nation city. A nice one, at that. Immediately, the faded glaze and remnants of paint made sense, even next to the plain, chipped clay of his teapot. The cup belonged to someone, maybe even him when his title still meant something. It was a piece of a past life, a remnant of something that was important to him. Why else would he hold onto it?

Regardless of her actions, her feelings, her mistrust, it somehow felt wrong not to value it. She wrapped it up in the bandages and tucked it back into the bag, then moved on. With the sea crashing beneath, the wide open cliffside was no place to sleep.

** _______ **

_Thirty-six hours._ She couldn’t keep walking.

Night had come again before she stopped, tucked up in the trees for privacy and shelter. It wasn’t unusual for her to go so long without sleep. Before the Prince took her, such a luxury was rare. Her captors would keep her up,  _use_ her up. That, or she’d lie awake nursing new burns and other injuries. Her thoughts flashed to Zuko’s hand, to his soft, wondrous gasp when the bones mended together. She wondered if his face had reflected such astonishment.

Katara doubted it.  _So repentant. So sorry._  He was a liar, through and through. He was going to trade her for glory.

Resolved to go hungry—the marauders would have food she could take—and resolute in her bitterness, she stuffed the bag of mismatched belongings under her head and pushed any memory of Prince Zuko from her head. Of course, he followed her into her sleep.

** _______ **

His voice didn’t wake her, though. Another’s did.

“I knew she’d turn up,” it said. “Our little pet.” 

Blinking sleep from her eyes, Katara adjusted to the early morning light. She was disoriented, confused, trapped somewhere in a dream. It had to be a dream, right? That voice. It couldn’t be that voice.

But, it was. It was him, real and leering and flanked by six other men. One of them snickered, a flame coming to life in his hand. The flicker cast cruel shadows around them, holding low and steady… until Katara jolted to her feet and turned morning dew into darts.

She threw the ice at them, hearing cries of pain as she turned to flee.

As hard and as fast as she could go, Katara ran towards the cliffs. It was her only shot; all that water. These men were cruel, but they weren’t foolish. So, she just ran, leaving all of his things behind. She didn’t look back. She didn’t falter. On her heels, she heard the few surviving firebenders in heavy pursuit, crashing and thrashing through the trees, but she didn’t waste the energy deflecting their blows. The fire singed her back, burned the ends off what was left of her hair, but she made it… she lept over the edge of the cliff.

No one would follow a waterbender into the sea.


	6. Chapter 6

Daylight filtered in through the young leaves of the canopy above him. It was mid-morning, and he’d been up for hours already. Rise with the sun, Zuko thought. He set himself a steady pace, just like yesterday, just like the day before, but he could feel himself flagging already.

It wasn’t that he was still weak—he felt fully recovered from the… ordeal during the full moon a few nights ago—but too much time had been lost.

The waterbender’s trail was growing colder, and with it, his uncle’s teacup slipped further away.

At first, she was easy to track, but she’d had a good few days’ head start on him. What she’d done to him had left him drained of almost all his strength for nearly two full days; it was all he could do to drag himself outside to piss and then drag himself back in to eat small mouthfuls of slowly spoiling rabbit. When he’d finally regained enough strength back to move around more normally, he’d been sick with what was probably food poisoning from the rancid meat. Well, the joke was on her, really—it wasn’t the first time he’d dealt with that, so he knew what to do, and it hadn’t held him up for long.

Once he finally had gotten himself and his clothing clean, or as much as either could be since she stole his only bar of soap, three days had already passed since the full moon. Two days of tracking her after that, and he was now starting to concede that he wouldn’t find her.

But, he wouldn’t give up. She had his uncle’s teacup, and if nothing else, he needed to get that back. Everything else he could steal again—even more dao. Zuko would follow in her wake to the ends of the world if that’s what it took to get that little porcelain cup back.

By the time the sun had reached its apex in the sky, Zuko realized where she was going. The trail she left was headed back toward where he’d brought her from the marauder’s camp. Had she been recaptured? Despite everything, a sudden sharpness clenched in his chest. For all that she’d been treated poorly before, he knew it would be so much worse if they’d caught her again. He picked up his pace and ignored the immediate pangs of hunger the exertion sent through his stomach.

So intent was he on reaching the hideout again, that he nearly tripped over the body.

It was a feat that the stench hadn’t hit him first, but now that he stopped, the reek of decomposing flesh twisted out any kind of hunger he might have had. With a hand clamped over his mouth and nose, Zuko crouched to peer down at the body, to try and identify it. The eyes were gone—they were a coveted part of any corpse, and quickly picked out by birds or other animals—as was a decent portion of the skin, but enough of the clothing remained that Zuko recognized the dead man as one of the raiders who’d been keeping the waterbender captive. He stood again.

A quick scan of the area revealed two more corpses, in similar states of decay. They must have all been killed around the same time, though, upon further inspection, Zuko could find no particular method of death for any of them. He walked a bit upwind of the bodies to get some fresher air and to keep from dry heaving, and it was from that different vantage point that he noticed all the foliage in a semi-circle was dead. Dried, as if it had all the water sucked out of it. His eyes widened.

The waterbender.

He’d seen her draw water from thin air—he should have guessed that she could draw the life out of any plant she wanted, too. She really was powerful. Whatever had stayed her hand from killing him, Zuko was thankful for it, because everything more he saw about her told him she was more than capable of doing it.

As he looked over the remains of firebenders and foliage alike, an out of place color caught his eye. He picked his way over to it, careful to avoid even the dead leaves, and discovered it was his pack. Not everything was still inside it, but when he withdrew a solid form his strips of bandages were wrapped around, he was astonished to find his uncle’s cup.

She’d stolen his things and yet… still kept the teacup? Immediately, he tried to quash the swell of confusion that rose within him. Maybe she just liked tea. Plenty of people did. He turned the cup over and ran his thumb over the stamp in the bottom of it thoughtfully. That didn’t explain why she’d wrapped it so carefully in the bandages. It was as if she hadn’t wanted it to break.

Unable to find any answers from the silent porcelain or the dead men around him, Zuko repacked his bag and sifted through the marauder’s pockets for anything of use or value to start bolstering his supplies again. He didn’t come away entirely empty-handed, but he didn’t find as much as he’d been hoping for.

He moved on, heading toward the marauders’ hideout. She’d killed three of them, but that still didn’t mean she hadn’t been recaptured. His pace was slow, ponderous. Why was he still going? Maybe she’d been able to kill the rest and his journey was for nothing. He got the teacup back, and she was clearly capable of handling herself now. Now, after he’d helped her regain her strength.

Yet still, the worry that she was back in that cave, facing worse than before, burrowed into him. He swallowed down the bitterness over her betrayal to the shaky alliance he thought they’d had, and continued on. If she was there, he’d find her and get her out again. Then they would be done.

_______

It was nearly sunset by the time he reached the hideout, and he sat back away from it for some time, watching. He’d expected them to have changed things up once he’d taken their prisoner away, but now there were no signs of any movement at all. Had they moved on? Zuko drummed his fingers against the wood of the Blue Spirit mask, hesitating before putting it on again. He’d wait until dusk truly fell and would sneak in to investigate.

Patience was something Zuko had been forced to learn over the past few years. Once an impulsive teenager who barreled headlong into the fray, now he was no stranger to biding his time for the right moment. It was something earthbenders and even non-bending Earth Kingdom denizens did innately, and he wondered if all his time spent among them had helped him learn at least a little of their techniques. His uncle would have been proud.

Zuko frowned. His thoughts turned toward the teacup, which led him right back to the waterbender.

Why had she held onto it? Not only was it not immediately useful—unless she really was a tea-lover like Uncle—but it was clearly Fire Nation. Even if she hadn’t seen the stamp on the bottom, it was lacquered red and gold in Fire Nation designs. True, it was subtle and finely crafted, but it was still unquestionably from his homeland. So… why hadn’t she just thrown it away, or smashed it against a rock, or something?

He sat with unanswered questions until it was dark enough that he felt confident to move closer to investigate. While he waited, he watched a few bandits return to the cave, confirming it wasn’t abandoned. As he slipped through the shadows and along narrow ledges to keep out of sight, it was also clear that the only reason they’d changed up their sentries was because they were missing several men from the last time he’d been in their hideout. Zuko wondered how many of them were missing because they were on a raid, and how much of the lack of sentries was because some of them were lying dead nearby in the forest.

There didn’t seem to be much activity at all throughout the hideout. Surely, if the waterbender had been recaptured, there would have been— Zuko shook his head, dismissing any gruesome details it might have conjured. There would have been some sort of commotion.

Timing his movements against the remaining bandits in the cave hideout, Zuko made his way through the places he’d staked out before, searching for any sign of the waterbender.

There was none.

In the depths of his chest, a coil of something tight loosened a little. 

At least, Zuko thought as he changed course and began stealing back to the entrance, the waterbender hadn’t been captured.

_And what if she had been?_  The thought sounded suspiciously like his uncle’s voice in his head. He pressed his lips together behind his mask and his body against a wall, waiting and counting footsteps. He’d have gone in and gotten her out again, he supposed.

_And then what?_  And then he… would have figured it out.  _You never think these things through!_  Zuko gritted his teeth and squeezed his hands into fists. It didn’t matter if he did or not—she wasn’t here anyway. He couldn’t plan for something that wasn’t going to happen.

No matter what stray thoughts he might have, the truth of the matter was she wasn’t here, he didn’t have to worry about her anymore. All he had to do was get back out and be on his way.

Zuko waited a few breaths longer, then darted out from the nook he had waited in and over to the other side, laying out the route in his head as he went. A stack of crates half-filled with supplies provided enough cover for him to hide behind while he paused to make sure the coast was still clear. It was a pattern he kept to, stealing his way from cover to cover and evading the few bandits he encountered.

Every time he crouched in the shadows, or flattened himself against a wall behind a crate or sack of supplies, Zuko had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep his anger in check. They didn’t have any more prisoners left when Zuko had freed the waterbender, and it was because the rest were dead. She would have been in a few days, too, had Zuko not taken her out. These men were a stain on the Fire Nation, and it was difficult for several beats of his heart to not skulk back through their hideout and kill them one by one.

Zuko let out a breath, calming his inner fire. While he was certain he  _could_  do that if he really had a mind to, he wasn’t going to. He was weaponless, and honestly, he was tired. He hadn’t regained all his strength back after the full moon and the food poisoning, and he hadn’t stopped to hunt for a proper meal the entire time he’d been following the waterbender’s trail. And, as satisfying as it would be to remove these insults to firebending from the face of the world, Zuko just didn’t have it in him to kill them in cold blood. Perhaps that was why the waterbender had stayed her own hand; maybe that was something they had in common after all.

Voices suddenly came from nearby, startling him out of his mental reverie. Cursing beneath his breath, Zuko pressed himself as much as he could into the dark of the shadows of his hiding spot. He wished he had the cover of a crate or even a haphazard stack of supply sacks to get behind, but judging by the sounds of footfalls and nearing conversation, he didn’t have the time to find a better spot. The angle of the wall would have to be enough.

“… didn’t get her,” one was saying. That one had a slight drag to one of his footfalls.

“Why didn’t you send anyone after her? She was very….  _useful.”_  The other speaker had a deeper voice, and more even steps. Zuko guessed he might have been in the military at some point.

“Uh, well… she went off a cliff. I wasn’t going to send anyone to their death after a single waterbender.”

Zuko sucked in a sharp breath despite himself, and immediately froze as he heard both the bandits stop mid-stride.

“Did you hear that?”

The other bandit said nothing, and Zuko willed himself as still as he could possibly be. His heart rate elevated, but his breath had caught in his throat; his hands slowly tensed, just in case he had to fight.

“Fucking ratvipers all over this cave,” the first one continued. “Just leave ‘em alone. We’ll flush out the nest in the light. I don’t want to tangle with any in the dark, yanno?”

“Yeah,” the former military one said.

Zuko forced a slow, silent breath out as the two continued on their way. As soon as he felt the slightest confidence that they were out of sight or hearing, he bolted for the entrance and went out into the night.

He didn’t stop moving until he felt his lungs begin to burn, and his body protested so much energy without enough food to fuel it. Doubling over to brace his hands against his legs, it was all Zuko could do for a few minutes to breathe.  _She went off a cliff_. The words echoed through his mind again, and he felt a strange sort of numbness settle over him as his heart settled.

Was she… did that mean she was dead? He’d seen her mend back to relative health, felt how much power she had even not at her full strength, only for her to fall to her death? It just—it didn’t seem right. It didn’t seem  _fair_. Sure, she’d tried to kill him, but she said she was going to from the beginning, and in the end, she hadn’t. In-between those times he’d felt like he made a connection with her.

Zuko scowled at himself. That’s what he got for being too trusting. It was good she was gone, even if she wasn’t dead, though he didn’t see how someone could survive a fall off a cliff. He was on his own again, and that’s how he best survived all these years.

He straightened and continued until he found a decently secure spot to sleep for the night. He would head to the nearest town again to get some more supplies and be on his way; he’d spent too much time in one place the last few days caring for her, anyway.

Zuko fell asleep with his hand cradling the teacup in his bag, but it wasn’t his uncle his last waking thoughts were of.

* * *

“Diya!”

The name sounded far away; fuzzy, like someone had stuffed her ears with cotton.

“Diya, come here! Now!”

Blurry colors and shapes filled the blank white field of her vision, taking on forms she couldn’t quite bring into focus. She thought, maybe I’m far away.

“Where did she come from?” A girl, now.

“I don’t know.”

The girl said something else. Concentrating was too hard. She wanted to sleep. That was all. Closing her eyes again—the female voice protests this—she caught only the last of man’s nonsensical words. “…hurt…washed up on the shore. Go find your grandmother!”

_______

An indecipherable amount of time later, Katara awakened to a room. A plain, barren room. The walls were devoid of any decorations. The floor was without a rug. There were no mirrors, only a window, and aside from the bed, a rocking chair was the solitary furnishing.

…the chair, and the old woman in it.

“Who are you?” Katara burst up, startled. So sudden was her fear, that she only winced at the aches afflicting her body. “Where am I? Where’s Zuko?”

She expected… anything aside from a small laugh, and a smile.

“My name is Wu, sweet water child.” The woman shifted in her chair, leaning forward. “You are in a fishing village called Makapu, on the southern coast of the Earth Kingdom. You are in my home, that I share with my husband and my granddaughter. Prince Zuko is…” Wu canted her head for a moment. “…wondering about you.”

Katara stiffened, drawing a second laugh.

“Are you a witch of some kind?”

“I prefer fortune-teller to describe my talents,” Wu said with a smile. “But if calling me a witch makes you happier…” She spread her hands in a pleasing manner, then asked, “How are you feeling?”

“Wouldn’t you already know?”

“I would, but I also know you’d like some agency in this conversation. Too many have taken that from you.”

Staring at the woman for a moment, Katara finally blinked and looked down. A soft blanket covered her lower half, and she’d been redressed in a warm, woolen tunic made of yellow fabric. She fingered it, only then assessing the various pains that nagged her through ebbing adrenaline.

“…my leg,” Katara said, breathing deeply. That hurt, too. “My ribs.”

Wu nodded. “You broke quite a few bones in your fall. They will take some time to heal, even with your bending.”

So, she couldn’t leave. She couldn’t so much as move. The thought made Katara uneasy, particularly with the prince—no matter what this witch said—out there still and the marauders who’d happily recapture her.

Katara shifted to her back, trying to keep calm, even as her hands made fists in the sheet. “How- how long have I already been sleeping?”

“A few days. But, you are more than welcome to stay as long as you need.”

_______

Katara promised her stay would only be a week, maybe two. Wu and her husband, Gao, helped her from the bed to a bath, where she’d spend an hour concentrating on the break in her femur and the cracks down her ribs.

As soon as she could bear her weight, she’d leave.

Or, so she thought.

Somewhere, over the course of the first few days, she bonded with Diya. Then, an easy friendship formed with Gao. Katara was forever wary of the fortune teller; having some woman pick around at her future— her past, too— made Katara squirm uneasily.

But, slowly, between prepping dinners, gardening in the evenings, and going with Wu to the market, even that guard came down. She found a maternal presence in the woman, something Katara missed.

Wu was quirky, interesting; she had a thousand stories, about herself, about passersby, about Katara. Each and every day, on their walks to the small market by the sea, Wu shared something… from what to wear the following day to the neighbor’s misfortune to Katara’s supposed husband.

“A powerful bender?” she asked skeptically. It had been two months now, and this was the first Wu had mentioned any love in Katara’s future. “I’m supposed to marry a powerful bender? Who? Is it someone here? One of the crotchety vendors?”

Laughing, Wu shook her head. “None from Makapu will have such a privilege, my dear.”

That made Katara stop in the middle of the path. “You mean I’ll leave?”

“Eventually,” Wu said, a sad smile gracing her lips. “You still have some time left, water child.” She extended her hand for Katara to take. “Come. Let’s enjoy it.”

_____

Three months. Four months. _Five._

Katara was beginning to think Wu was wrong, until she wasn’t. Rumors filtered through— a masked marauder in towns nearby. Her dreams were filled with him again, those gold eyes, the terror in them when she fulfilled her promise.

Was he hunting her?

She didn’t speak a work of her fears; of course, with Wu, she never needed to.

“I told you he was thinking of you, my dear.”

“He’s coming after me?”

Wu tilted her head, “Not necessarily. Not in the way you think.”

“Then what does he want?” Katara pressed.

“I don’t think even he knows.”

Katara didn’t like that answer. Even more, she didn’t like that he was closing on her. She hated that the reason she’d be leaving the first place she’d felt in years was him.

_____

She let the meal that night be her last, unbeknownst to all but Wu.

When she went to her room after clearing supper, Katara found a note, a bag of food, and a black cloak.

And as mysteriously as she came, she left.


End file.
